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“You Needn’t Be Afraid of This Tea; Nobody’s 
Paid a Tax on It.” 






A PATRIOT LAD 

OF OLD BOSTON 


BY 

Russell Gordon Carter 

Author of the Bob Hanson Books 



Illustrated by HENRY PITZ 


THE PENN PUBLISHING 
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 
1923 




COPYRIGHT 
1923 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 



A Patriot Lad of Old Boston 

Manufacturing 

Plant 

Camden, N. J. 


Made in the U. S. A. 


JUL 12 '23 


©Cl A711161 



INTRODUCTION 


The story of Don Alden is the story of Boston 
during the British occupation. Like the sturdy 
out-of-doors boy of to-day, Don was fond of 
hunting and fishing and trapping; it is of little 
wonder therefore that Glen Drake, the old 
trapper from the North, formed an instant liking 
for him. 

But from the moment that the Port Bill went 
into effect—yes, and before that unfortunate 
event—there were other things than hunting and 
fishing to think about. Don’s aunt, a heroic, 
kindly woman of old New England, refused to 
leave her home in Pudding Lane, even though 
the town seemed likely to become a battle ground. 
And Don was not the boy to forsake his aunt in 
time of need. 

How he helped her during the period of 
occupation; how he acted when his best friend 
cast his lot with the Tories; what he did when he 
suddenly found that he could save the life of one 
of the hated Redcoats; and what happened at the 


4 


INTRODUCTION 


end when Crean Brush’s Tories forced their way 
into the house—those events and many others 
only go to prove that heroism is not limited by 
age. 

There were other things also to test the 
courage of a lad like Don—the Battles of Con¬ 
cord and Lexington and of Bunker Hill, the 
felling of the Liberty Tree, and the many small 
annoyances that both Tories and Redcoats com¬ 
mitted to make life a little more miserable for the 
suffering townsfolk. But he met them all in 
such a way as to deserve the words of praise from 
the one man whom he admired more than any 
other—General Washington. 

Boston in the days of the Revolution re¬ 
sembled Boston of to-day in one noticeable re¬ 
spect: many of the streets were narrow and 
crooked and bore the names that they bear at 
present. But the differences between the old 
town and the new are many and astonishing. In 
Revolutionary days mud flats, which were ex¬ 
posed at low water, lay where South Boston and 
the Back Bay are now situated; near where the 
present North Station stands there used to be a 
broad placid mill-pond that extended down 
almost to Hanover Street; and to the south, 


INTRODUCTION 


5 


\ 

where to-day many broad streets and avenues 
cross one another over a wide space, there used to 
be a very narrow strip of land known as the Neck 
—to have cut it would have made of the town an 
island. Such in brief was the Boston of Donald 
Alden and of his friends. 

If Don is a fictitious hero he is at least typical 
of many another patriot lad who, too young to 
serve a great cause under arms, did serve it never¬ 
theless as best he could. How he cared for his 
Aunt Martha throughout the long trying months 
of British occupation and in the end foiled Crean 
Brush’s Tories and performed a service for Gen¬ 
eral Washington makes a story that is well within 
the beaten paths of history. 

The facts of history, taken alone, are likely to 
seem cold and colorless; regarded from the point 
of view of a hero in whom we are interested, and 
whose life they are affecting, they glow with 
warmth and romance. If readers who follow the 
adventures of Don find that at the end of the 
story the Tea Party, Bunker Hill, Lexington 
and Concord and other important events of 
history are a little more real to them than they 
were at first, I shall be content. That is one of 
the purposes of the book. The other, and per- 


INTRODUCTION 


haps the more important, is simply to provide an 
interesting story of a boy—a Patriot Lad of Old 
Boston. 

The Author. 


CONTENTS 


I. 

Tea and Salt Water . 

• 



11 

II. 

Don Finds a New Friend 

• 



24 

III. 

A Redcoat Gets Wet . 




36 

IY. 

A Trip to Concord 




49 

Y. 

The Regulars Come Out 




62 

YI. 

Across the Flats . 




77 

VII. 

Jud Appleton . 




92 

YIII. 

The Boys Set a Trap . 




106 

IX. 

The Regulars Embark . 




116 

X. 

From a Housetop . 




128 

XI. 

The Liberty Tree . 




142 

XII. 

A Blustering Sergeant-Major 



152 

XIII. 

A Farce is Interrupted 




162 

XIY. 

A Broken Lock 




173 

XY. 

March Winds Blow 




184 

XYI. 

Crean Brush’s Men 




194 

XYII. 

Don Meets General Washington 


207 












/ 






f 












ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“You Needn’t Be Afraid of This Tea; 

Nobody’s Paid a Tax on It.”. Frontispiece 

He Lifted His Head Cautiously and 
Began to Count. 72 

“Who Lives Here Beside Yourself, Young 
Sire?”. 154 


A Patriot Lad of Old Boston 
















ukH».» • 











A Patriot Lad of Old Boston 


CHAPTER I 

TEA AND SALT WATER 

A pink and golden sunset was flaming across 
Boston Common. It was one of the prettiest 
sunsets of the whole winter of 1773; but on that 
day, the sixteenth of December, few persons were 
in the mood to stop and admire it. For trouble 
had come to town. 

In the Old South Meeting-House at the 
corner of Marlborough and Milk Streets the 
largest and perhaps the most important town¬ 
meeting in the history of Boston was in session. 
The hall was filled to overflowing, and those who 
had been unable to gain admittance lingered in 
the streets and tried to learn from their neighbors 
what was going on inside. 

On the outskirts of the crowd in Milk Street 
two boys were talking earnestly. “ This is a bad 
piece of business,” said one in a low voice. 
“ What right have we to protest against the 
11 


12 


A PATRIOT LAB 


King’s sending tea to his colonies? We’re his 
loyal subjects, aren’t we?” 

His companion, an alert-looking boy with blue 
eyes, did not reply at once; but his eyes flashed 
as he glanced restlessly now at the meeting-house, 
now at the persons round him, many of whom he 
knew. At last he said, “ Of course we’re loyal, 
but we’re not represented in Parliament; for that 
reason we shouldn’t be taxed. The protest is not 
against the tea but against the tax that the King 
has put on it. At least that’s what my Uncle 
Dave says.” 

“ Now see here, Don,” replied the boy who had 
spoken first, “ there’s going to be trouble just as 
sure as you’re born. Take my advice and don’t 
pick the wrong side.” He lowered his voice. 
“ Keep away from trouble-makers. Men like 
Sam Adams inside there are a disgrace to the 
town; and anyway they can’t accomplish any¬ 
thing. There are three shiploads of tea at Grif¬ 
fin’s Wharf; it will be landed to-night, and be¬ 
fore many days have passed, you and I will be 
drinking it—as we should. Don’t be a fool, 
Don!” 

Donald Alden lifted his chin a trifle. “ I don’t 
intend to be a fool, Tom,” he replied slowly. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


13 


His companion, Tom Bullard, the son of one 
of the wealthiest men in town, seemed pleased 
with the remark, though he certainly was not 
pleased with what was going on about him. 
From time to time he scowled as the sound of 
hand-clapping came from within the meeting¬ 
house, or as he overheard some snatch of conver¬ 
sation close by. “ Cap’n Botch,” a tall, rugged¬ 
faced man was saying to his neighbor, “ has gone 
with some others to Milton to ask the governor 
for a clearance.” 

“ Old Hutchinson will never give it to them,” 
was the quick reply. “ He’s as bad as King 
George.” 

“ Well, then, if he doesn’t, you watch out and 
see what happens.” With that advice the tall 
man smiled in a peculiar way and a few minutes 
later left his companion. 

Meanwhile the crowd had increased to almost 
twice the size it had been when Don and Tom 
had joined it. Don guessed that there were be¬ 
tween six and seven thousand people inside the 
meeting-house and in the streets close by it, and 
he was astonished at the quiet nature of the 
gathering. Although everyone around him 
seemed uneasy and excited, yet they talked in 


14 


A PATRIOT LAD 


ordinary tones of voice. Occasionally a small 
boy would shout as he chased another in play, but 
for the most part even the small boys were con¬ 
tent to wait quietly and see what was about to 
happen; for it seemed that something must hap¬ 
pen soon. 

Almost all of the pink and gold had faded from 
the sky, and a light breeze was swaying some of 
the signs over the doors of the shops on Milk 
Street and making them creak. There were 
lights flashing in many of the windows; and in¬ 
side the Old South Meeting candles were burn¬ 
ing. 

Don and Tom edged as near as they could to 
the door, which was partly open. They could 
hear someone speaking, though the words were 
indistinct; they could see the heads and shoulders 
of some of the listeners; they could see grotesque 
shadows flit about the walls and ceiling as some¬ 
body moved in front of the flickering candles. 
It was long past supper-time, but few persons 
seemed to have any thought for food. 

“ I’m cold,” said Tom, “ and hungry too. 
Aren’t you, Don? ” 

“ No,” replied Don. 

He lifted his hands to loosen his collar; they 


OF OLD BOSTON 


15 


were trembling but not with cold. Something 
must happen soon, he thought. 

Somewhere a bell was tolling, and the tones 
seemed to shiver in the chill air. Half an hour 
dragged by, slowly. And then there was a 
sudden commotion near the door of the church, 
and the buzz of conversation rose to a higher 
pitch. “It’s Rotch!” exclaimed someone. 
“ It’s Rotch,” said another; “ and Governor 
Hutchinson has refused clearance.” 

The crowd pressed closer to the door. Don 
could see people moving about inside the meet¬ 
ing-house. Then he saw somebody at the far end 
of the hall lift his hand, and he barely distin¬ 
guished the words: “ This meeting can do noth¬ 
ing more to save the country.” 

An instant later there was a shout from some¬ 
one on the little porch of the church, and then the 
startling sound of war-whoops rang in Marl¬ 
borough Street. In a moment the people in the 
church began to pour out of the door. In Milk 
Street, near Bishop’s Alley, Don spied half a 
dozen figures clothed in blankets and wearing 
feathered head-dresses; their faces were copper- 
colored, and all of them carried hatchets or axes. 
Where they had come from no one seemed to 


16 


A PATRIOT LAD 


have any clear idea, but as they started down the 
street others joined them; and the crowd fol¬ 
lowed. 

“Where are you going, Don?” Tom asked 
sharply as his companion turned to join the 
throng in Milk Street. 

“ He’s going to have a look at the King’s tea, 
aren’t you, my lad? ” said a voice near by. 

“ Come on along,” cried Don. 

But Tom seized his companion’s arm and held 
him. “ Don, are you crazy?” he demanded. 
“Keep out of this; it’s trouble; that’s what it 
is-” 

Don jerked his arm free and ran ahead; soon 
he was lost to Tom in the crowd. At Long 
Lane he caught a glimpse of bobbing head¬ 
dresses. He started to run as best he could. 
Once he stumbled and fell to his knees, but some¬ 
body helped him quickly to his feet. “No time 
to stumble now,” said the stranger, whoever he 
was. 

A few moments later those at the head of the 
throng turned sharply to the right, and as they 
stumbled over the cobblestones down a narrow 
street Don observed that the moon was shining. 
In and out among the streets the throng went, 



OF OLD BOSTON 


17 


past Cow Lane, past Belcher’s Lane and straight 
toward Griffin’s Wharf. Everyone was excited, 
and yet there was a certain order about the whole 
movement. 

“ Remember what Rowe said in meeting ? ” re¬ 
marked a florid-faced man whom Don recognized 
as a grocer from King Street. “ 4 Who knows 
how tea will mingle with salt water ? 9 Well, I 
guess we’ll all know pretty quick.” 

Don felt his heart take a sudden leap. So they 
were going to throw the tea overboard! These 
were no Indians; they were Colonists, all of them! 
He thought he even recognized one of the leaders 
as the tall, rugged-faced man in the crowd who 
had advised his companions to wait and see what 
would happen if the governor refused the 
clearance. 

Once on the wharf, the first thing the men did 
was to post guards, and then Don noticed that all 
of the little copper-colored band had pistols as 
well as hatchets and axes. The Dartmouth was 
the first ship to be boarded; someone demanded 
that the hatches he opened, and the sailors com¬ 
plied with the demand at once; there was no re¬ 
sistance. In a moment square chests with 
strange markings were being lifted to the deck. 


18 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Again Don observed that everything was being 
done in an orderly manner. 

It was a night that he should long remember. 
The tide was low, and the three Indiamen with 
their high sides and ornamented sterns reminded 
him of huge dragons lying beside the wharf in 
the moonlight. He saw chest after chest broken 
open with axes and hatchets and then tumbled 
overboard into the water; he heard the low voices 
of the men as they worked—they seemed to be 
talking in Indian dialect, though he knew that 
it was not genuine, for now and again he would 
catch a word or two of English. 

For a while Don leaned against one of the 
great warehouses and tried to guess who the 
“ Indians ” were ; at one time he counted as 
many as fifteen of them, but he could not be sure 
that there were not more; for at least a hundred 
persons were on the wharf, helping to get rid of 
the tea. Some of the chests that they tossed 
overboard lodged on the mud flats that were out 
of water, but young men and boys waded in and 
broke them into pieces and pushed them off. It 
was fascinating to watch the destruction. 

Don remained near the warehouse for perhaps 
three hours; and not until the last chest had been 


OF OLD BOSTON 


19 


tossed from the Eleanor and the Beaver , the other 
two tea vessels, did he realize that he was 
hungry; he had entirely forgotten that he had 
missed his supper. 

Taking one last glance at the pieces of broken 
chests, which the turning tide was now carrying 
out into the hai'bor, he set forth toward home. 
At the head of Atkinson Street he heard someone 
call his name, and, turning, he saw Tom Bullard 
close behind him. “ Oh, Don, wait a minute.” 

Don paused. “ I can’t wait very long,” he 
said and grinned. “ My Aunt Martha won’t he 
very well pleased with me as it is.” 

“ See here, Don,” began Tom abruptly, “ I 
know where you’ve come from, and I know 
what’s happened down at the wharf. I know 
also that those men weren’t Indians. The thing 
I want to ask you is, what do you think of it? ” 

“ Why,” replied Don slowly, “ I’m afraid it 
won’t please you, Tom, if I tell. I think we— 
that is, the Indians,—did the proper thing in 
throwing the tea overboard.” 

Tom stiffened. “ So you’re a young rebel,” 
he said. “ A young rebel! Well, I thought so 
all along. I’m through with you from now on.” 

“ I’m sony, Tom; we’ve been good friends.” 


20 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ Well, I’m not sorry,” replied Tom, turning 
part way round. “ A young rebel! ” he repeated, 
flinging the words over his shoulder. “ Well, 
look out for trouble, that’s all.” And he crossed 
the street. 

Don bit his lips. He had lost an old friend; 
Tom was a Tory. Well, he was not astonished; 
but he had hoped that their friendship might last 
through their differences. 

He felt somewhat depressed as he made his 
way along the crooked streets to his aunt’s little 
house in Pudding Lane. No light was burning 
in the store at the front where his aunt sold 
groceries and odds and ends of a household 
nature to eke out the income of his Uncle David, 
who was employed at MacNeal’s rope yard on 
Hutchinson Street. He entered the small sit¬ 
ting-room at the back of the house. “ Hello, 
Aunt Martha,” he said cheerfully. 

“ Donald Alden, for goodness’ sake, where 
have you been? ” Aunt Martha Hollis dropped 
the stocking that she had been knitting and ad¬ 
justed her spectacles. 

“ Well, first I went up to the town-meet¬ 
ing.” 

“ Did you see your Uncle David there? ” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


21 


“ No, ma’am; there was an awful big crowd. 
I’m pretty hungry, Aunt Martha.” 

“ What happened at the meeting? ” 

“ Well, there was a lot of talking, and then 
just as it broke up, a band of Indians—that is, 
a band of men with tomahawks and feathers and 
colored faces—appeared in Milk Street and 
started down to Griffin’s Wharf and—is there 
any pie, Aunt Martha? ” 

“ Donald, go on! ” said his aunt, whose fingers 
had begun to tremble violently. 

“ They boarded the three tea ships and tossed 
all the tea into the water. My, you should have 
seen them! Then they went home. Aunt 
Martha, I certainly am hungry.” 

“ Was—was anybody hurt, Donald? ” 

“Oh, no, ma’am—except one man whom I 
didn’t know; a chest of tea fell on him. Another 
man tried to put some of the tea into his 
pockets, but I guess he was more scared than 
hurt.” 

Aunt Martha drew a deep breath and rose 
from her chair. In a few minutes she had placed 
some cold meat and potatoes and a large slice of 
apple pie on the table. “Now don’t eat too 
fast,” she cautioned her nephew. Then she 


22 A PATRIOT LAD 

seated herself again, but she did not go on with 
her knitting. 

She was a little woman with blue eyes and 
silvery hair parted in the middle. She was 
naturally of a light-hearted disposition, though 
perhaps somewhat overly zealous for the welfare 
of her only nephew, whom she had taken to live 
with her eight years ago on the death of both his 
parents. Now her eyes were gravely thoughtful 
as she watched him eating. 

“ This is mighty good pie, Aunt Martha.” 

“ Well, eat it slowly, then, for that's all you 
can have.” 

Don grinned and held up his empty plate, and 
a moment later his aunt went to the kitchen and 
returned with another piece. As she was set¬ 
ting it on the table, the door opened, and David 
Hollis entered. He nodded and smiled at his 
nephew and then strode quickly into the kitchen, 
where Don heard him washing his hands and face. 
Then Don heard his aunt and uncle talking in 
subdued voices. When they entered the sitting- 
room again Aunt Martha carried more meat and 
potatoes, which she placed on the table. 

Uncle David, big and broad and hearty, sat 
down opposite his nephew. “ So you were at the 


OF OLD BOSTON 23 

wharf this evening? ” he inquired. “ Did you see 
the—the Indians?” 

“ I saw feathers and tomahawks and painted 
faces,” replied Don, and Uncle David laughed 
and quickly lowered his hands to his lap, but not 
before his nephew had caught a glimpse of dark 
red paint round the finger-nails. 

“ It was a bold thing that the Mohawks did,” 
said Uncle David. “ Don’t ever forget, Donald, 
that the men who tossed that tea overboard were 
Indians.” 

Don nodded and, turning to his aunt, said, 
“ This is awfully good pie. Aunt Martha. 
Maybe there’s another piece-” 

“Donald! Of course not!” Nevertheless* 
Aunt Martha went again to the kitchen cup¬ 
board. 



CHAPTER II 


DON FINDS A NEW FRIEND 

During the next few days the destruction of 
the King’s tea was the main topic of conversation 
in and round Boston. Moreover, bells were 
rung in celebration of the event, and some per¬ 
sons said frankly that they believed the act to be 
a stroke toward independence. David Hollis 
said so one day at the dinner-table. 

When he had gone out Aunt Martha turned to 
her nephew. “ Donald,” she said, “ your uncle 
is a good man, a brave man, and he is usually 
right; but, oh, I do hope that this time he is 
wrong. Do you realize what it will mean if the 
Colonies declare their independence of Eng¬ 
land? ” 

“ It will mean fighting,” Don replied. 

“ Yes, it will mean—war.” Aunt Martha’s 
voice trembled. ‘‘War between us and our own 
kinsmen with whom we have been close friends 
for so long.” 

Don thought of Tom Bullard, but he said 
nothing. 


24 


OF OLD BOSTON 


25 


“ I do hope that things will be settled peace¬ 
ably before long,” said his aunt. 

Not many days had passed before the inhabi¬ 
tants of Boston learned that tea ships that had 
tried to land cargoes at New York and at 
Charleston had fared no better than the three 
Indiamen at Boston. And again the people of 
Boston rejoiced, for they were sure that they had 
done right in destroying the tea. 

For a while Don found things very quiet at 
the little house in Pudding Lane. He went 
regularly to the Latin School in School Street 
and after hours frequently helped his aunt to look 
after the store. He saw Tom Bullard almost 
every day, but Tom had not a word to say to his 
former close friend. 

One day shortly after Christmas the two boys 
met unexpectedly near Tom’s house in Hanover 
Street. Don stopped short. “ Say, Tom,” he 
said, “ don’t you think we might be friends again 
even if we can’t agree on all things? ” 

“ I don’t care to be friendly—with you,” re¬ 
plied Tom shortly. 

“ Oh, all right, then,” said Don. 

For several minutes he was indignant and 
angry; then he decided that the best thing for 


26 


A PATRIOT LAD 


him to do would be to forget the quarrel, and 
from that moment he did not allow it to worry 
him. 

The winter dragged on slowly. January 
passed, and February came and went. There 
had been plenty of sledding on the Common; 
and there were numerous ponds and swamps, 
where Don tried his new upturned skates 
that his Uncle David had given him on his birth¬ 
day. 

March was drawing to a close when Don un¬ 
expectedly found a new friend. It was Sunday 
evening, and Aunt Martha and Uncle David and 
Don were seated in front of a roaring fire on the 
hearth, when two loud knocks sounded at the 
door. Before Uncle David could get to his feet 
it swung open, and a short heavy-set man dressed 
in deerskin entered. 

“ Glen Drake! ” exclaimed Uncle David. 
“ By the stars, what in the world brings you out 
of the woods? ” 

“ Oh, I just meandered down,” replied the 
other, clasping the outstretched hand. “ Thought 
maybe you’d be glad to see me.” 

“Glad? I surely am! Here—you know 
Aunt Martha.” Glen Drake shook hands with 


OF OLD BOSTON 27 

Don’s aunt. 44 And here—this is my nephew 
Donald.” 

Don felt the bones in his hand fairly grate as 
the man pressed it. 

“ Draw up a chair, Glen,” said Uncle 
David. 

But Glen Drake had crossed to the door and 
slipped outside. In a moment he was back, 
carrying a large bundle in both arms. “ A little 
present for Aunt Martha,” he said and dropped 
it on the floor in the centre of the room. 44 There’s 
a silver fox among ’em.” 

44 Furs! ” cried Don. 

44 Why, Glen Drake,” began Aunt Martha, 
44 you don’t mean to say-” 

44 Best year I ever had,” said Glen and, kneel¬ 
ing, cut the thong that bound the bundle. 

Don’s eyes seemed fairly to be popping from 
his head as he watched the old trapper lift pelt 
after pelt from the closely-packed pile. There 
must have easily been several thousand dollars’ 
worth there on the floor. Perhaps one-fourth of 
the pelts were muskrat; the rest were beaver, 
otter, mink, martin, sable, ermine and finally the 
trapper’s greatest prize—a silver fox. 

44 You don’t mean to say-” Aunt Martha 




28 


A PATRIOT LAD 


began again. “ Why, you surely don’t intend to 
give me all these! ” 

At that the old trapper threw back his head 
and laughed for fully half a minute. “ All! ” he 
exclaimed. “ Why, bless your heart, Aunt 
Martha, you should have seen the catch I made. 
This isn’t one-fifth—no, not one-tenth! ” 

He seated himself in front of the fire and 
began to fill his pipe. “ Never saw so much fur 
in my life,” he said. 

“ Where have you been? ” Uncle David asked. 

“ Up Quebec way and beyond.” 

While the two men were talking, Don not only 
listened eagerly, but studied the visitor closely. 
He was a short man with broad sloping shoulders 
and a pair of long heavy arms. His musket, 
which he had carried in when he went to get the 
furs, lay beside his coonskin cap on the floor. 
Though the weapon lay several feet from him, 
Don was sure that the man could get it in a frac¬ 
tion of a second, if he needed it badly; for he had 
crossed the floor with the quick noiseless tread of 
a cat. Now he was lying back in his chair, and 
his deep-set black eyes seemed to sparkle and 
burn in the moving light of the fire. His face 
was like dark tanned leather drawn over high 


OF OLD BOSTON 


29 


cheek bones; his hair was long and jet black. 
His pipe seemed twice the size of Uncle David’s 
when it was in his mouth, but when the trapper’s 
sinewy hand closed over the bowl it seemed very 
small. Glen Drake was just the sort of man to 
catch a boy’s fancy. 

All evening Don sat enthralled, listening to 
the stories the man told of the north, and Aunt 
Martha had to use all her power of persuasion to 
send her nephew off to bed. “ No more pie for a 
week, Donald, unless you go this instant,” she 
said at last. 

“You like pie, Don? ” asked the trapper. 
“ Well, so do I. And I like boys also, and since 
I hope to be here for some little time maybe you 
and I can get to be real friendly.” 

“ I—I surely hope so! ” said Don and turned 
reluctantly toward the stairs. 

He did not go to sleep at once; his room was 
directly above the sitting-room, and he could hear 
his uncle and Glen Drake talking until late into 
the night. 

The month that followed was a delightful one 
for Don. After school hours he and the old 
trapper would often cross the Neck and go for 
a long walk through Cambridge and far beyond. 


30 


A PATRIOT LAD 


The backbone of winter was broken; spring was 
well along, and the birds had returned from the 
south. Glen knew them all, by sight and by 
sound, and he was willing and even eager to teach 
his companion; he taught him also the habits of 
the fur-bearing animals and the best ways to trap 
them; he taught him how to fish the streams, the 
baits to use and the various outdoor methods of 
cooking the fish they landed. 

“ I declare,” said Glen one evening in May 
when they were returning with a fine mess of 
fish, “ you’re the quickest boy to learn a thing 
ever I knew. I’m as proud of ye as if you were 
my own son.” 

Don felt a thrill pass over him; he had not ex¬ 
pected such praise as that. “ I hope I can learn 
a lot more,” he said. 

But that was the last trip the two made into 
the country together for a long time. On arriv¬ 
ing at the house in Pudding Lane, they found 
Uncle David pacing nervously back and forth 
across the floor. 

“ What’s the matter, Dave? ” asked Glen. 

“ Matter enough; haven’t you heard? ” Uncle 
David paused. Then he said with a note of 
anger in his voice: “ I was sure all along that 


OF OLD BOSTON 


31 


the King would take some means of revenge for 
the affair of the tea, but it’s worse than I’d sus¬ 
pected. He’s going to close the port.” 

Glen Drake whistled softly. Don paused at 
the foot of the stairs. 

“ Military governor is coming first,” continued 
Uncle David, “ and troops later—Redcoats! ” 

“ That won’t help the town,” said the trapper. 

“ You’re right; and it won’t help me; I’ve got a 
good supply of merchandise in the cellar—cloth 
mostly and a little powder. Bought it last week 
from the captain of the Sea Breeze and offered 
it right off to a friend of mine in Carolina, but 
can’t send it till I hear from him and know 
whether he wants it. By that time, though, I’m 
afraid there won’t be any ships sailing.” 

“Sell it here in town,” suggested Glen. 

“ Can’t do it; my offer was as good as a 
promise.” 

“ Send it overland, then, though that would 
be more expensive, wouldn’t it? ” 

“ Yes, it would be; there wouldn’t be any profit 
left.” 

But during the stress of the next few days 
Uncle David quite forgot about his merchandise. 
Captain-General Thomas Gage had arrived in a 


32 


A PATRIOT LAB 


ship from England; and on the seventeenth of 
May he landed at Long Wharf and as military 
governor was received with ceremony. On the 
first of June, amid the tolling of bells and fast¬ 
ing and prayer on the part of most of the good 
people of Boston, the Port Bill went into effect. 
A few days later Governor Hutchinson sailed for 
England. 

Uncle David was moody and preoccupied. 
He and Glen spent much of their time in the 
North End, and Don could not help wondering 
what they were doing there. He and the trap¬ 
per had become such close friends that he missed 
his old companion greatly. “ Where do they go 
every evening? ” he asked his aunt. 

“ You must not ask too many questions, 
Donald,” Aunt Martha replied. 

“ Well,” said Don, “ how long will the port be 
closed? ” 

“ I don’t know. All I can say is that it is a 
wicked measure; I declare it is! ” 

Aunt Martha’s words soon proved to be only 
too true. Hundreds of vessels, prevented from 
sailing by the British fleet, lay idle at the wharfs. 
Hundreds of persons walked the streets, out of 
work; and many of the very poor people were 


OF OLD BOSTON 


33 


without bread. Day by day the town seemed to 
grow a little more miserable. And still Aunt 
Martha hoped that there would be a peaceful 
settlement between the Colonies and the mother 
country. Uncle David and Glen Drake said 
very little except when they thought they were 
quite alone. 

Don went frequently to the Common, where 
Redcoats were encamped; in the course of the 
summer the number of them increased. Bar¬ 
racks had been erected, and cannon had been 
placed at various points of vantage. It looked 
as if the British were preparing for a long stay. 

Once Don overheard a conversation between 
two of the soldiers that made his blood boil. He 
was waiting for a school chum near the Province 
House, which General Gage was occupying as 
headquarters, when two Redcoats turned the 
corner at Rawson’s Lane and stopped near him. 
“ We’ll teach these people how to behave in the 
future,” said one. 

“ It’s pretty hard for them,” remarked the 
other, “ having all their trade cut off and having 
a lot of their liberties taken from them.” 

“ Hard! ” exclaimed the first speaker. “ It’s 
meant to be hard. Everything is done purposely 


34 


A PATRIOT LAD 


to vex them. They talk of liberty; well show 
’em what liberty means. Maybe when they feel 
the pinch of starvation they’ll come to under¬ 
stand. Maybe they’ll need powder and ball to 
make them behave, but they’ll behave in the 
end!” 

Don turned away, and from that moment he 
hoped that a time would come when the people 
of the Colonies would rise and drive the hated 
soldiers from the town. If he were only a little 
older! If he could only do something! 

That evening when he returned to Pudding 
Lane he found the table set for only two persons. 
“ Why, Aunt Martha,” he said, “ where are 
Uncle Dave and Glen? ” 

44 They’ve gone on a trip southward. They 
won’t return for perhaps a week or two.” 

44 Oh,” said Don, 44 did they go to see about the 
consignment of goods in the cellar? ” 

44 They could see about that,” Aunt Martha 
replied slowly. 

As a matter of fact, the two men had gone on 
a special trip to New York^ For some time they, 
together with such men as Paul Revere, a silver¬ 
smith in the North End, William Dawes and 
others had been meeting in secret at the Green 


OF OLD BOSTON 


35 


Dragon Tavern; they were part of the Commit¬ 
tee of Correspondence, and their object was to 
watch the British, learn all they could about them 
—where they kept their guns and powder, how 
many there were of them at various points—and 
to convey the information to the other Colonies. 
Uncle David had ceased work at the rope yard, 
and if Aunt Martha had known all the details of 
his doings at the Green Dragon she might have 
worried even more than she did. His mission 
now was, among other matters, to inform the 
Committee of Correspondence at New York of 
the arrival of a fresh regiment of Redcoats. 


CHAPTER III 


A REDCOAT GETS WET 

In the absence of Glen Drake, Don had 
formed the habit of going down to the wharves 
and watching the great ships that lay in forced 
idleness. The boys that he knew were divided 
sharply between Whigs and Tories, though most 
of them were Whigs like himself. So far he had 
found no one with whom he could be as intimate 
as he had been with Tom Bullard; so he spent 
much of his time alone. 

On the first day of September, Don was on his 
way to the water-front when he observed an ex¬ 
cited group of sailors and townsmen on the 
opposite side of the street; they were talking 
loudly and making violent gestures with their 
hands. He crossed just in time to hear one of 
the sailors say: “ I was down at Long Wharf and 
saw them go early this morning—more than two 
hundred Redcoats in thirteen boats! ” 

“ And they went to Winter Hill,” exclaimed 
another, “ broke open the powder house and 
carried off two hundred and fifty half-barrels! 

36 


OF OLD BOSTON 


37 


And a second detachment went to Cambridge 
and brought back two field-pieces that belong to 
the militia. Thieving Redcoats! It’s high time 
Congress took some measures to oust 'em! ” 

“ Have patience, Jim,” said a third. “ Our 
time will come, see if it doesn't.” 

“Patience! We've shown too much of it 
already.” 

Before Don reached home the news of the raids 
had spread all over town. People were discuss¬ 
ing it on the street corners and in public meeting, 
and many persons were of a mind to organize at 
once and recapture as much of the stores as pos¬ 
sible. 

The Powder Alarm, as it was called, spread 
rapidly. Messengers from the Committees of 
Correspondence carried the news to the other 
Colonies, and the whole country soon blazed with 
indignation; as a result Lieutenant Governor 
Oliver and other important officers of the Crown 
were forced to resign. General Gage began at 
once to fortify Boston Neck, and then the flame 
of indignation blazed brighter. 

In the midst of the excitement Uncle David 
and Glen Drake returned with the information 
that all the people of the other Colonies had “ all 


38 


A PATRIOT LAB 


their eyes turned on Boston.” “ We’ll have to 
open hostilities before long,” Don’s uncle 
declared. “ Human nature can bear just so 
much—then look out!” 

“O David!” cried Aunt Martha. “You 
seem to be anxious for bloodshed. You do in¬ 
deed!” 

“ I’m anxious for justice,” replied Uncle 
David. 

“Ye can torment a critter just so far, Aunt 
Martha,” said Glen; “then it’ll turn and fight. 
I don’t care what it is—mink, otter or even a poor 
little muskrat. And when it does fight it fights 
like fury. It’s not only human nature, but the 
nature of every living critter.” 

Aunt Martha was silent, and Don, observing 
the old trapper’s powerful fingers as he tightened 
the lacing in one of his boots, secretly wished that 
he were old enough to carry a musket in one of 
the companies of militia. 

Two days later the two men were off on sepa¬ 
rate missions to the west and south, and again 
Don was left alone with his aunt. 

One Saturday afternoon late in September he 
took a long walk with his dog, a young terrier 
that a sailor on one of the ships at Woodman’s 


OF OLD BOSTON 


39 


Wharf had given him in exchange for three cakes 
of maple sugar and a set of dominoes. Up past 
the Faneuil Hall the two went, past the Green 
Dragon Tavern and along to the shipyard at 
Hudson’s Point, the dog tugging eagerly at his 
leash, and Don holding him back. 

For a while Don stood in Lynn Street, looking 
across the water at Charlestown and enjoying the 
cold wind that was sweeping in from the east. So 
far he had not found a name for the dog, and he 
was walking along thoughtfully when he caught 
sight of a red-coated figure standing at the ap¬ 
proach to Ruck’s Wharf and talking with—why, 
it was Tom Bullard! Don stopped short and 
then turned to watch the tide, which was sweep¬ 
ing round the point. What was Tom doing, 
talking with a Redcoat? On second thought Don 
realized that Tories and Redcoats had only too 
much in common these days. He was on the 
point of resuming his walk when he heard some¬ 
one shout at the end of the wharf, and, turning, 
he saw a man in a small sloop holding something 
upraised in his hand. Tom and the soldier 
started toward the sloop, laughing. Then Don 
observed that it was a bottle that the man in the 
boat was holding. “ Tom’s found bad company, 


40 A PATRIOT LAD 

I’m afraid/’ he thought and again resumed his 
walk. 

On coming opposite the end of the wharf, he 
observed that Tom had gone aboard the sloop; 
he had crossed on a narrow plank stretched be¬ 
tween the boat and the dock. The soldier, a tall, 
well-built fellow, had started across at a swing¬ 
ing gait. He had passed the middle and was 
only a few feet from the sloop when, apparently, 
the narrow plank tilted sidewise. “ Look out! ” 
Don heard Tom shout. 

The soldier threw out both arms, balanced un¬ 
certainly for several seconds, took two short quick 
steps and then slipped. Don saw the man’s hat 
fly off and go sailing in the wind. The next 
instant the soldier struck the water with a 
tremendous splash. 

Tom Bullard stood with open mouth, looking 
down at the black water that had closed over the 
head of the soldier. The man with the bottle ran 
to get a rope, but by the time he reached the 
gunwale again the soldier reappeared a dozen 
yards from the bow, uttered a gurgling shout and 
sank even as the man on board made his cast. 

Don’s fingers had tightened round the leash; 
his eyes were wide, and his breath came quickly. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


41 


Then, letting go the leash, he ran to the edge of 
the wharf. He paused and in two swift move¬ 
ments tore off his jacket; then he felt a stab of 
doubt. What was he thinking of ? Save a Red¬ 
coat! He thought of his uncle and of Glen 
Drake; he thought of all the wrongs the town 
was suffering at the hands of the King’s sol¬ 
diers—their insolent conduct on the streets, their 
hatred of the townsfolk. Then he thought of his 
aunt. That thought settled it. As the tide 
swept the man to the surface for the third time, 
Don jumped. 

The water was like ice. He strangled as a 
wave struck him in the face just as his head came 
to the surface. He caught a glimpse of a dark 
red mass of cloth a dozen yards at his left; it 
seemed rapidly to be taking on the color of the 
water round it. Kicking with all his might, he 
struck out toward it, swinging his arms with 
short, quick strokes. Everything was confusion 
—air, sky, water. A great weight seemed to be 
pressing against his chest. Then one foot struck 
something hard. In an instant he had turned and 
plunged downward. All was water now, black, 
cold and sinister. His fingers closed on some¬ 
thing soft—it might be seaweed. He struggled 


42 


A PATRIOT LAD 


upward. His lungs seemed on the point of 
bursting. Upward, upward—then a rush of air 
and light. A bundle of sodden red cloth came up 
beside him. 

“ Grab the wharf! ” someone shouted. 

But Don did not hear. He took a stroke with 
his free hand, and at that moment a length of 
heavy rope whipped down across his arm. Seiz¬ 
ing it, he held on. Then he saw that the tide had 
carried him and his burden against the piling of 
the next wharf. 

“ Hold him a moment longer,” said a voice, and 
then three red-faced sailors lowered themselves 
like monkeys, and two of them lifted the soldier 
out of the water. The third caught Don by the 
back of his shirt and pulled him upward. 

On the splintery planks of the wharf, Don 
blinked his eyes and looked about him. A group 
of men were carrying the Redcoat into a ware¬ 
house. 

“ How do you feel, my lad? ” asked the sailor 
who had pulled Don from the water. 

“ C-C-Cold ” 

“ That’s right, stand up. You did a plucky 
thing. Too bad the fellow was a Redcoat.” 

“ Is—is he alive? ” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


43 


44 Oh, yes; he’ll stand parade to-morrow all 
right. I’m sorry for that. How I hate ’em! ” 

Don caught a glimpse of Tom Bullard entering 
the warehouse. Then a low, plaintive cry 
sounded behind him, and, looking over the edge of 
the wharf, he saw his terrier in the water. “ My 
pup! ” exclaimed Don. 44 Get him somebody, 
please! ” 

A good-sized group of persons had gathered 
round the boy by that time, and the sailor and two 
other men hastened to rescue the dog. Once on 
the wharf, the terrier ran to his young master and 
began to leap up on him. 

44 Get the boy to a warm place,” said a lanky 
fisherman and grasped Don by one arm. 

The sailor who had pulled him from the water 
placed himself on the other side, and together the 
three of them started down the street at a rapid 
pace. Soon Don felt a warm glow all over his 
body; nevertheless his teeth were chattering, and 
with each puff of strong wind he shivered. 

44 Wish it had been old Gage instead of a com¬ 
mon Redcoat,” the sailor was saying. 

44 Same here,” replied his companion. 44 You’d 
have pushed him under when you pulled the lad 
out, wouldn’t you, Hank? ” 


44 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ You’re right, I would have done just 
that.” 

Down one street and into another the three 
hurried and then paused in front of a tavern with 
a swinging sign-board that bore the grotesque 
figure of a green dragon. “ Here’s Revere’s 
place,” said the sailor. “ In we go.” 

Don soon found himself seated in front of a 
blazing wood-fire in a large room. It was the 
first time he had ever entered the Green Dragon 
Tavern. He glanced round the low-ceilinged 
room—at the long table, at the rows of pewter on 
the walls, at the dozen or more chairs with shiny 
rounded backs. Then he moved as close to the 
fire as he could with safety, and soon steam was 
rising from his shoes and stockings. The dog 
curled up on the hearth and blinked now at the 
boy, now at the blazing logs. 

Hank left the room and returned a few 
minutes later with a bowl of broth and a cup of 
strong tea. “ You needn’t be afraid of this tea, 
my lad,” he said and grinned. “ Nobody’s paid 
a tax on it.” He winked at the fisherman. 
“ See if you can find some dry clothes about the 
place, John.” 

Don finished the broth and was sipping the hot 


OF OLD BOSTON 45 

tea when a big, rugged-faced man strode into the 
room, and Don recognized Paul Revere. 

“ This is the boy,” said John. 

“ H’m,” said Revere. “ David Hollis’s 
nephew, aren’t you? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Don. 

“ They tell me you saved a Redcoat.” 

“ I did, sir,” replied Don. “ He couldn’t 
swim.” 

“ What’ll your uncle say to that? ” The man 
smiled. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know.” Indeed the ques¬ 
tion had occurred to Don several times before. 
What would Glen Drake say? Don felt his face 
grow hot; he thought he ought to say something 
more. “ I—wouldn’t pick a Redcoat to save— 
if I had my choice,” he added. 

Revere laughed heartily. “ No, I don’t be¬ 
lieve you would,” he said. “ Well, I’ll have some 
clothes for you in a trice. Put ’em on in the 
other room; you can return ’em to-morrow or 
next day.” 

Half an hour later Don said good-bye to Hank 
and John and set forth toward the house in 
Pudding Lane. Twilight was coming on, but 
Don was not sorry for that. He thought of the 


46 


A PATRIOT LAB 


miserable figure that he must present to passers- 
by. The coat he wore was several sizes too large 
for him; he had turned up the sleeves three times, 
and still they reached to his knuckles. The 
trousers were so big that he felt as if he were 
walking in a burlap bag. The hat, which was 
his own, was wet and misshapen. And at his 
heels trotted a wet, shivering terrier; no leash 
was necessary now. 

What would his aunt say? And then he hap¬ 
pened to remember that the day was Saturday. 
“ Why, I declare,” he said to himself. “ Uncle 
Dave and Glen are expected home to-night.” 

He quickened his steps as he crossed the 
cobblestones on King Street. He was thinking 
of just how he should begin his story, but sud¬ 
denly in the midst of his thoughts he stopped and 
looked at the pup. “ I believe I’ve found a name 
for you! ” he said. 

The pup wagged his tail. 

“ I can’t call you Redcoat or soldier, but since 
it was a sailor I got you of, and a sailor that 
pulled both of us out of the water, I’m going to 
call you—Sailor! ” 

The pup’s tail wagged more vigorously, as if 
he were content with the name. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


47 


Don reached his aunt’s house; there was a light 
in the store; he entered and passed through to 
the sitting-room. Uncle David and Glen evi¬ 
dently had been home for some little while, for 
they were both seated comfortably beside a 
candle, reading the Massachusetts Spy and the 
Boston Gazette . They looked up as Don 
entered, and Aunt Martha, who had just come 
from the kitchen, dropped a plateful of dough¬ 
nuts and gave a little cry. 

“ Where you been, Don, to get such clothes as 
those? ” asked Glen. 

“ Donald Alden, I couldn’t believe it was you,” 
said Aunt Martha. “ How you frightened me! ” 

“ Scarecrow come to town,” said David Hollis. 

Don helped to pick up the doughnuts, adding 
as he held the last one, “ This one’s dirty, Aunt 
Martha; I’ll eat it.” Then he told what had 
happened to him on his afternoon walk, and 
Uncle David’s face glowed while he listened, 
though Don could not tell whether it was with 
satisfaction or with anger. “ Did I do what was 
right, Uncle Dave? ” he asked when he had con¬ 
cluded the narrative. 

David Hollis did not reply at once, but Aunt 
Martha said quickly, “You did, Donald; but, 


48 


A PATRIOT LAD 


my dear boy, what a risk you took! Don’t ever 
do such a thing again—that is,” she hastened to 
add, “ don’t do it unless you have to.” The 
good lady seemed to be having a hard time ad¬ 
justing her spectacles. 

“ Yes,” said Uncle David at last, “ your Aunt 
Martha is right, Don.” He laughed and added, 
“You did right, but don’t do it again unless you 
have to.” 

Glen Drake nodded and bent over the Gazette . 


CHAPTER IV 


A TRIP TO CONCORD 

The next day was Sunday, a bleak, damp day 
that most of the good people of Boston were con¬ 
tent to spend indoors. Snow was falling in large 
wet flakes that melted almost as soon as they 
struck the sidewalks. The great elms on the 
Common tossed their gaunt black branches in the 
wind; and on the water-front the flakes of snow 
whirled downward among the spars of the idle 
shipping and vanished into the black water. 

In Pudding Lane, Aunt Martha and the two 
men had finished dinner, and Don was munching 
his fourth doughnut, when a knock sounded at 
the door. “ Now who can that be? ” asked Don’s 
aunt. 

Uncle David opened the door and disclosed a 
tall, well-built man in the bright uniform of a 
British soldier. “ Good day to you, sir,” said the 
Redcoat and took off his hat. 

“ Good day to you.” David Hollis’s tone was 
by no means hospitable. 

49 


50 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ You have a boy—a boy who is called Donald 
—Donald Alden, I think.” 

Uncle David nodded. “ Be so kind as to step 
inside. The day is bleak.” 

The soldier crossed the threshold, and David 
Hollis closed the door and stood stiffly with his 
hand on the latch. Glen Drake had stopped in 
the act of filling his pipe. Aunt Martha’s lips 
were pursed, and her eyes were wide open. For 
a moment or two no one spoke. Then the 
soldier looked at Don, who had hastily swallowed 
the last of the doughnut. “ This boy,” he said, 
“ saved my life yesterday. I should be a most 
ungrateful man if I allowed the act to pass with¬ 
out a word. Be sure that I am grateful. 
Harry Hawkins is my name, private in His 
Majesty’s 43rd Regiment. If I can be of any 
service to you, Master Donald,” he added with a 
smile, “ I shall be indebted to you until I have 
performed it.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” Don replied. “ I had no 
hope of reward when I plunged from the dock.” 

The man smiled faintly and turned as if to go. 

“ You and your fellows might act with a little 
more consideration for folks who wish only to be 
left alone in justice,” said Uncle David. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


51 


“ I am a soldier; I obey my King,” the man 
replied and stepped to the door. “ I wish you all 
good day.” 

David Hollis closed the door behind him. 

“ I like that fellow for three things,” said Glen 
Drake abruptly. “ He’s grateful to Don here, 
as he should be; he didn’t offer the lad money for 
saving his life; and he said what he had to say 
and then made tracks.” 

Aunt Martha nodded and sighed, but Uncle 
David kept a stubborn silence. 

As for Don, he admitted afterward to his aunt 
that he liked the looks of Harry Hawkins better 
than he liked the looks of any Redcoat he had 
ever seen, and that he was really glad that he had 
been able to save the man’s life. “ I like him 
far better than I like a Tory,” he added with con¬ 
siderable spirit. 

Indeed a good many people were far more 
bitter against the Tories than they were against 
the Redcoats, who after all had behaved pretty 
well under somewhat trying conditions. By 
now, the middle of November, there were eleven 
regiments of Redcoats, most of which were 
grouped on and round the Common; there was 
also artillery; and the following month five hun- 


52 


A PATRIOT LAD 


dred marines landed from the Asia . Earl Percy 
was in command of the army, and a formidable 
looking force it was, on parade. 

But the Colonies also had an army. Uncle 
David and Glen Drake, on returning from their 
frequent journeys, brought much news of what 
was happening outside the town. The convic¬ 
tion was fast becoming general that force and 
force alone could settle the whole matter; and to 
that end Alarm List Companies of Minute-Men 
were being formed in the various towns, and sup¬ 
plies and ammunition were being collected and 
stored for future use. “ By Hector,” Glen re¬ 
marked on one occasion, “right out here in 
Danvers the deacon of the parish is captain 
of the Minute-Men, and the minister is his 
lieutenant! Donald, if you were only a mite 
older—but then again maybe it’s best that you’re 
not.” 

By the first of the new year the force of Red¬ 
coats in Boston had increased to approximately 
thirty-five hundred; and, moreover, General 
Timothy Ruggles, the leader of the Tories, was 
doing his best to aid the soldiers in every possible 
way. Tom Bullard, it seems, was acting as a 
kind of aide to the general and had accompanied 


OF OLD BOSTON 53 

him several times on missions to the Tory town of 
Marshfield. 

“ I tell you, Don,” said Glen one day, “ watch¬ 
ing this trouble is a whole lot like watching a 
forest fire. It started with only a few sparks, 
like the Stamp Act, you might say; now it’s 
burning faster and faster every minute. It 
won’t be long before it blazes up bright, and then 
it’ll have to burn itself out.” 

“ How soon is it likely to blaze up? ” 

“ Mighty soon, I’m a-thinking.” 

Glen’s estimate was correct. In March the 
people of Boston saw a marked change in the be¬ 
havior of the troops. On the fifth of the month, 
which was the anniversary of the Boston 
Massacre, the address that Dr. Warren made was 
hissed by perhaps twoscore of officers who had 
attended the Old South just for that purpose. 
And on the sixteenth, a day of fasting and 
prayer, soldiers of the King’s Own Regiment 
acted in a way that filled Aunt Martha with in¬ 
dignation. 

She and Don had gone to church early. 
Shortly before the service began, old Mrs. Lan¬ 
caster, who lived across the way in Pudding 
Lane, came in and remarked that soldiers were 


54 


A PATRIOT LAD 


pitching their tents outside. A few minutes 
later, in the midst of the service, the sounds of fife 
and drum came from the street. The minister 
stopped his sermon and looked round him. 

Aunt Martha bit her lips, and two bright pink 
spots showed on her cheeks. “ This is scanda¬ 
lous ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ It’s downright wicked! ” said old Mrs. Lan¬ 
caster. 

The minister went on with the service, raising 
his voice to make himself heard; but Don, and 
doubtless many others, had little thought for 
what was being said inside the church. 

At the end of the service many of the people 
hurried past the soldiers on their way home; 
but others stood and watched with indignant 
glances. 

That event was only one of many other irrita¬ 
tions that followed and inflamed the hearts of the 
townsfolk. 

“ Aunt Martha, war has got to come,” said 
Don. 

“ Don’t speak of it, Donald,” she replied, and 
Don glanced once at his aunt’s face and wished 
that he had held his tongue in the first place; his 
aunt’s eyes were red and moist. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


55 


“ All that cloth and powder is still in the cellar, 
isn’t it? ” he asked a while later. 

“ Yes, Donald; and your uncle intends to keep 
it there until he can find a satisfactory way of 
getting it out, though what with all the trouble 
that surrounds us, I do believe that he doesn’t 
often give it a thought any more.” 

“ Seems too bad not to sell it,” said Don. 

“ Yes, I’ve said so myself, but he always nods 
and says, ‘ Yes, that’s right,’ and then his mind 
goes wandering off on—on other matters.” 

David Hollis, and indeed all the members of 
the Committees of Correspondence, had many 
matters to keep them busy. A close watch was 
being kept on the troops in town. It was known 
that Gage had sent two officers in disguise to 
make maps of the roads that led to Boston; and 
rumor had it that he intended to send a strong 
force to Concord to capture supplies that the 
patriots had stored there. 

The month of March dragged past with war¬ 
like preparations on both sides. Many of the 
townsfolk, realizing that open hostilities must 
begin soon, had moved into the country. Samuel 
Adams and John Hancock had gone to Lexing¬ 
ton, where they were staying with the Rev. Jonas 


56 


A PATRIOT LAB 


Clark. David Hollis and Glen Drake had both 
made several trips to the town with messages for 
them. 

One day early in April, David Hollis took his 
wife aside out of hearing of his nephew. 
“ Martha,” he said in a low voice, “ I want you to 
leave the house for a while. There’s going to be 
trouble, and Boston will be no safe place for 
you.” 

Aunt Martha’s chin lifted a trifle. “ And, 
pray, where should I go? ” she asked. 

“ To Cousin Deborah’s in Concord.” 

“ I shall not go! ” Aunt Martha replied. 

“ But she has already prepared for you; I told 
her you’d come.” 

“ You had no right to say that.” 

“ But, Martha, listen to reason. I say there 
w T ill be trouble—I know it! And it’s coming 
soon. Need I speak plainer than that? ” 

“No, David, you need not. I understand. 
Yet I intend to remain right here in our home.” 

David Hollis threw out his hands and turned 
away. Then with another gesture he said, 
“ Martha Hollis, you are a foolish woman. I—I 
command you to go; it is for your own good.” 

Aunt Martha’s blue eyes flashed behind her 


OF OLD BOSTON 


57 


spectacles. “ And I refuse to obey. My place 
is here, and here is where I stay.” Then with a 
sudden flash of anger she exclaimed, “ I'd like 
to see any Redcoats drive me from my own 
home!” 

David Hollis turned toward the fire and 
snapped his fingers several times. “ It’s too 
bad,” he said. “ Stubbornness is not a virtue.” 

“ You have it! ” 

Uncle David made no reply. 

“ You tell Cousin Deborah that I’m sorry she 
has gone to any trouble about me.” 

“ I don’t expect to go that way very soon.” 

“ Then Glen can see her.” 

“ Glen has gone—elsewhere.” 

Aunt Martha was thoughtful. “ Well,” she 
said at last, “ as you say, it is too bad, but, David, 
my mind is made up.” 

“ How would it be to send Donald? Seems to 
me it might be a good vacation for him. He’s an 
able lad, and I know that he’d be glad to make 
the trip. He could ride almost as far as Lexing¬ 
ton with Harry Henderson. Cousin Deborah 
would be glad to have him for overnight.” 

“Dear me!” said Aunt Martha. “I can’t 
allow it.” 


58 


A PATRIOT LAD 


But in the end she yielded, and that evening 
Don heard the news with glee. “ Your cousin is 
a nervous, exact kind of person,” his aunt told 
him, “ and I want you to tell her everything that 
I say .” 

“ But what is it? ” asked Don. 

“ Tell her that I am very sorry she has gone to 
any trouble on my account, but that I cannot 
with a clear conscience visit with her at this time. 
Say also that when your uncle promised for me he 
had not consulted me and therefore did not know 
all the facts.” 

“ She’ll want to know the facts,” said Don, 
grinning. “ I’m kind of curious myself, Aunt 
Martha.” 

“ Donald! ” 

But Don’s grin was irresistible, and his aunt 
smiled. “ Never mind,” she said. “ And you’ll 
hurry home, won’t you? ” 

“ I surely will, Aunt Martha.” 

The next morning, the sixteenth of April, Don 
set out with Harry Henderson, a raw-boned 
young fellow with red hair and a short growth of 
red stubble on his face. The soldiers had just 
finished standing parade on the Common when 
Don and Harry rattled by in the cart; Harry’s 


OF OLD BOSTON 59 

light blue eyes narrowed as he watched them 
moving in little groups to their barracks. 

“ Good morning to you, young sir,” said a 
cheerful voice. 

Don, looking up, saw Harry Hawkins. 
“ Good morning to you, sir,” he replied. 

Harry Henderson looked at his companion 
narrowly. “ Friend of yours? ” he asked. 

“ Well, no, not exactly,” replied the boy. 

“Friend of your uncle’s maybe?” Harry 
was grinning impudently now, and Don’s cheeks 
were red. 

“No; here’s how it is-” And Don gave a 

brief account of how he had happened to meet 
the Redcoat. 

“ Well,’’ said Harry dryly, “ I should think he 
might say good morning to you.” 

They passed the Common and finally turned 
into Orange Street and, after some delay, drove 
past the fortifications on the Neck. “ Clear of 
’em b’gosh!” said Harry, cracking his whip. 
“ We’ll reach Lexin’ton by mid-afternoon if old 
Dan here doesn’t bust a leg.” 

But Harry had not reckoned on horseshoes. 
Shortly before they reached Medford, old Dan 
lost a shoe, and the circumstance caused a delay 



60 A PATRIOT LAD 

of two hours. Then later Dan shied at a bark¬ 
ing dog and snapped one of the shafts. As a 
result Harry and Don did not reach Lexington 
until almost ten o’clock. 

“ You’ve got to stay right here with me,” said 
Harry. “ It’s too late for you to reach Concord. 
I know your cousin, and she wouldn’t be at all 
pleased to have you wake her at midnight—not 
she! ” He laughed. 

So Don remained at Lexington overnight and 
the next morning set out on foot for Concord. 
He reached his cousin’s house just before noon. 

Cousin Deborah was a tall strong-looking 
woman with black hair, black eyes and a nose that 
was overly large. She had once been a school 
teacher and, as David Hollis used to say, had 
never lost the look. “ Where’s your Aunt 
Martha? ” were her first words to Don. 

“ She decided she couldn’t come.” 

“ But Uncle David told me-” 

Then followed the inevitable questions that a 
person like Cousin Deborah would be sure to ask, 
and Don wriggled under each of them. But 
after all, Cousin Deborah was good-hearted, and 
deep within her she knew that she would have 
.done the same as Don’s aunt was doing, if she 



OF OLD BOSTON 


61 


had been in similar circumstances—though she 
would not acknowledge it now. “ Your aunt 
always did have a broad streak of will,” she said 
severely. “Now I want you to spend several 
days with me, Donald.” 

“ Aunt Martha told me to hurry back.” 

“ That means you can stay to-night and to¬ 
morrow night,” Cousin Deborah decided. “ I’ll 
have dinner in a few moments, and then I want 
you to tell me all the things that have happened 
in Boston.” 

In spite of his cousin’s questions, which were 
many and varied, Don managed to enjoy himself 
while he was at Concord. On the second day he 
met a boy of his own age, and the two fished all 
morning from the North Bridge. In the after¬ 
noon they went on a long tramp into the woods 
along the stream. 

At night Don was tired out and was glad when 
his cousin finally snuffed the candles and led the 
way up-stairs. He was asleep shortly after his 
head struck the pillow. 

That night proved to be one of the most event¬ 
ful in the history of the Colonies. 


CHAPTER V 


THE REGULARS COME OUT 

While Don was asleep, breathing the damp, 
fragrant air that blew over the rolling hills and 
fields round Concord, his friend, Paul Revere, 
was being rowed cautiously from the vicinity of 
Hudson’s Point toward Charlestown. It was 
then near half-past ten o’clock. 

Revere, muffled in a long cloak, sat in the stern 
of the small boat and glanced now at his two 
companions—Thomas Richardson and Joshua 
Bentley—and now at the British man-of-war, 
Somerset , only a few rods off. The tide was at 
young flood, and the moon was rising. The 
night seemed all black and silver—black shadows 
ahead where the town of Charlestown lay, black 
shadows behind that shrouded the wharfs and 
shipyards of the North End, and silver shim¬ 
mering splashes on the uneasy water and on the 
sleek spars of the Somerset . 

The sound of talking came from the direction 
of the man-of-war and was followed by a burst of 
62 


OF OLD BOSTON 


63 


laughter that reverberated musically in the cool 
night air. Revere blew on his hands to warm 
them. The little boat drew nearer, nearer to 
Charlestown; now he could see the vague outlines 
of wharfs and houses. Several times he glanced 
over his shoulder in the direction of a solitary 
yellow light that gleamed in the black-and-silver 
night high among the shadows on the Boston 
side,—a light that burned steadily in the belfry of 
the Old North Meeting-House behind Corps Hill 
as a signal that the British were on their way by 
land to attack the Colonists. 

“ Here we are,” said one of the rowers, ship¬ 
ping his muffled oar and partly turning in his 
seat. 

A few minutes later the boat swung against 
a wharf, and the two men at the oars held it 
steady while Revere stepped out. A brief word 
or two and he was on his way up the dock. In 
the town he soon met a group of patriots, one of 
whom, Richard Devens, got a horse for him. 
Revere lost no time in mounting and setting off 
to warn the countryside of the coming of the 
Redcoats. 

He had not gone far beyond Charlestown 
Neck, however, when he almost rode into two 


64 


A PATRIOT LAD 


British officers who were waiting in the shadows 
beneath a tree. One of them rode out into the 
middle of the path; the other charged full at the 
American. Like a flash Revere turned his horse 
and galloped back toward the Neck and then 
pushed for the Medford road. The Redcoat, un¬ 
familiar with the ground, had ridden into a clay 
pit, and before he could get his horse free Revere 
was safely out of his reach. 

At Medford he roused the captain of the 
Minute-Men; and from there to Lexington he 
stopped at almost every house along the road and 
summoned the inmates from their beds. It was 
close to midnight when he reached Lexington. 
Riding to the house of the Rev. Jonas Clark, 
where Hancock and Adams were staying, he 
found eight men on guard in command of a ser¬ 
geant. 

“ Don’t make so much noise! ” cried the fellow 
as Revere clattered up to the gate. 

“ Noise! ” repeated Revere in a hoarse voice. 
“ You’ll have noise enough here before long—the 
regulars are coming out! ” 

At that moment a window opened, and Han¬ 
cock thrust his head out. “ Come in, Revere! ” 
he said. “ We’re not afraid of you! ** 


OF OLD BOSTON 


65 


Revere dismounted and hurried inside. In a 
few words he told his story, that the British were 
on their way either to capture Hancock and 
Adams or to destroy the military stores at Con¬ 
cord. While he was talking, William Dawes, 
who also had set out to warn the people, clattered 
up to the door. 

After he and Revere had had something to eat 
and to drink they started for Concord and were 
joined by a Dr. Prescott, whom Don had seen 
once or twice in company with his uncle. With 
Revere in the lead the party rode on at a rapid 
pace. 

About half-way to Concord, while Prescott and 
Dawes were rousing the people in a house near 
the road. Revere spied two horsemen ahead. 
Turning in his saddle, he shouted to his com¬ 
panions, and at that moment two more horsemen 
appeared. 

Prescott came riding forward in answer to the 
shout, and he and Revere tried to get past the 
men, all of whom were British officers. But the 
four of them were armed, and they forced the 
Americans into a pasture. Prescott at once 
urged his horse into a gallop, jumped a stone 
wall and, riding in headlong flight, was soon safe 


66 


A PATRIOT LAD 


on his way to Concord. Revere urged his horse 
toward a near-by wood, but just before he 
reached it six British officers rode out, and he 
was a prisoner. 

“Are you an express?” demanded one of 
them. 

“ Yes,” replied Revere and with a smile added: 
“ Gentlemen, you have missed your aim. I left 
Boston after your troops had landed at Leche- 
mere Point, and if I had not been certain that the 
people, to the distance of fifty miles into the 
country, had been notified of your movements I 
would have risked one shot before you should 
have taken me.” 

For a moment no one spoke; it was clear that 
the Redcoats were taken aback. Then followed 
more questions, all of which Revere answered 
truthfully and without hesitating. Finally they 
ordered their prisoner to mount, and all rode 
slowly toward Lexington. They were not far 
from the meeting-house when the crash of 
musketry shook the night air. 

For an instant the major who was in command 
of the party thought they had been fired on. 
Then he remarked to the officer beside him, “ It’s 
the militia.” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


67 


The officer laughed shortly and glanced at 
their prisoner. Then the party halted, and the 
British took Revere’s horse. The major asked 
him how far it was to Cambridge and, on being 
told, left the prisoner standing in the field and 
with the rest of the party rode toward the meet¬ 
ing-house. 

A few minutes later Revere crossed the old 
burying-ground and entered the town. He soon 
found Hancock and Adams again and told them 
what had happened, and they concluded to take 
refuge in the town of Woburn. Revere went 
with them. He had done his duty. 

Perhaps it was a vague feeling of impending 
danger, perhaps it was the mere twitter of a bird 
outside his window—at any rate Don awoke with 
a start. All was darkness in the room. A light, 
cool wind stirred the branches of the great elm at 
the side of the house; he could hear the twigs rub¬ 
bing gently against the rough shingles. He had 
no idea what time it was; it must be after mid¬ 
night, he thought; but somehow he was not 
sleepy. He raised his head a trifle. Down¬ 
stairs a door slammed; that seemed strange. 

Now someone was talking. “ I wonder-” he 

said to himself and then sat bolt upright in bed. 



63 


A PATRIOT LAD 


The church bell had begun to ring at a furious 
rate. Clang, clang! Clang—clang! Don thought 
he had never before heard a bell ring so harshly 
or so unevenly. He jumped out of bed and 
began to dress. Clang! Clang! What in the 
world could be the matter? He could hear 
shouts now and the sound of hastening footsteps. 
In his excitement he got the wrong arm into his 
shirt. Clang! Clang—clang! He found his 
shoes at last and with trembling fingers got them 
on his feet. He unlatched the door and started 
carefully down the winding stairs. It seemed as 
if there were a hundred steps to those creaking 
old stairs. Twice he almost missed his footing— 
and all the while the bell continued to clash and 
ring and tremble. 

In the sitting-room a single candle was burn¬ 
ing. Don got a glimpse of his cousin Deborah, 
hastily dressed and still wearing her nightcap; 
she was standing at the door, and his Cousin 
Eben, with a musket in his hand and a powder 
horn over his shoulder, was saying good-bye. 
Don saw him kiss his wife. Then the door 
opened, the candle flickered, and he was gone. 

“ Cousin Deborah, what’s wrong? ” cried 
Don. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


69 


“ The regulars are coming! ” And then 
Cousin Deborah burst into tears. 

Don bit his lips; he had never thought of his 
cousin as being capable of tears. 

They did not last long. A few movements of 
her handkerchief and Cousin Deborah seemed 
like herself again. “ Donald/’ she said, “ they 
have begun it, and the good Lord is always on 
the side of the right. Now I want you to go back 
to bed and get your rest.” 

“ Are you going back to bed, Cousin Deb¬ 
orah? ” 

“ No; there will be no sleep for me this night.” 

“ Then I shall remain up also,” replied Don. 

Cousin Deborah made no protest but went to 
the stove and poked the fire. 

The bell had ceased ringing now. The town 
of Concord was wide awake. 

While Don and his cousin were eating a hastily 
prepared breakfast the Minute-Men and the 
militia assembled on the parade ground near the 
meeting-house. Meanwhile other patriots were 
hard at work transporting the military stores to 
a place of safety. 

Dawn was breaking, and the mist was rising 
from the river when Don and his cousin finally 


70 


A PATRIOT LAB 


got up from the table. “ Now, Donald,” said 
Cousin Deborah, “ I’ve been thinking all along 
of your Aunt Martha and blaming myself for 
my selfishness in having you stay here with me 
for so long. I’d give most anything if you were 

back there with her. And yet-” She 

paused frowning. 

“ Oh, I can get back all right,” said Don con¬ 
fidently. 

“ How? ” 

“ Why, by keeping off the roads as much as 
possible. I know the country pretty well.” 

“ You’re a bright lad, Donald,” said Cousin 
Deborah. “ You’re a bright lad; and I don’t 
know but what you’d better start. Your aunt 
needs you more than I do. But oh, Donald, 
you’ll be cautious! ” 

4 4 1 don’t think I ought to leave you here 
alone.” 

“ Drat the boy! ” exclaimed his cousin and then 
smiled. “ Bless you, Donald,” she added, “ I’ll 
be safe enough. I shall go to Mrs. Barton’s 
until things are quiet again. Now go and get 
yourself ready.” 

Don needed only a few moments in which to 
get his things together. Then he walked with 



OF OLD BOSTON 


71 


his cousin as far as Mrs. Barton’s house, which 
was situated some distance beyond the North 
Bridge, bade her good-bye and started back. It 
was growing lighter every minute now, and the 
birds were singing in all the trees. On the road 
he met a Minute-Man who was hurrying in the 
opposite direction, and asked him the news. 

“ Regulars fired on our boys at Lexin’ton,” 
replied the fellow as he hurried past. Over his 
shoulder he shouted, 44 Killed six of ’em—war’s 
begun! ” 

Don said not a word in reply, but stood stock 
still in the road. For some reason a great lump 
had come into his throat, and he thought of his 
Aunt Martha. He must get to her as quickly 
as possible. 

As he came near the North Bridge he saw the 
Provincial troops—the Minute-Men and the 
militia of the town and detachments of Minute- 
Men from some of the outlying towns; and all the 
while fresh soldiers were hurrying to swell the 
numbers. The British, he soon learned, were on 
their way to Concord, and several companies of 
Provincials had gone out to meet them. 

Don left the town and struck off into the open 
country several hundred yards from the Lexing- 


72 


A PATRIOT LAD 


ton road. After a few minutes of rapid walking 
he saw the detachment of Americans coming 
back. He quickened his pace and finally broke 
into a run. 

He had gone something more than a mile and a 
half when he suddenly stopped and threw himself 
on the ground. There on the road, marching 
steadily in the direction of Concord, was a large 
force of regulars. He could see the flash of 
metal and the bright red of their coats. For a 
while he lay there, panting. Then at last, spying 
a great rock with a hollow just behind it, he 
crept toward it and waited. 

The long column advanced slowly. Now Don 
could hear the crunch of their feet on the hard 
road. He lifted his head cautiously and began 
to count; there must easily be a thousand Red¬ 
coats. The crunching grew louder as the head 
of the column came almost opposite to him. 
Now he could hear the rattle of equipment and 
the occasional jangling of a sword. 

It was some time before the rear of the column 
had passed. He waited until it was perhaps a 
quarter of a mile up the road and then got to 
his feet. He ought not to have much trouble 
in reaching Boston if he started at once. He 



He Lifted His Head Cautiously and Began to Count. 


* 






OF OLD BOSTON 


73 


was about to resume his journey when a fresh 
thought came to him. Ought he to go without 
knowing what was to happen to the town of 
Concord—and to his Cousin Deborah? For at 
least five minutes he struggled with the question. 
“ No, I oughtn’t! ” he declared at last and, turn¬ 
ing suddenly, began to retrace his steps. 

It was close to seven o’clock when the regulars, 
in two columns, marched into Concord and sent 
a party over the North Bridge into the country. 
Don found a clump of spruces growing on a hill¬ 
side and climbed into the lower branches of one 
of them. From that position he could see the 
scattered houses and the two bridges, though the 
distance was too great for him to be able to 
distinguish features or even the outlines of any¬ 
body in the town. 

Part of the King’s force seemed to have dis¬ 
banded, and later when Don heard the ring of 
axes he suspected that they were destroying the 
stores that had not been carried away. “ Well,” 
he thought, “ they won’t be able to destroy 
much.” 

But when he distinguished blue smoke curling 
upward from several places near the centre of the 
town he almost lost his grip on the branch to 


74 


A PATRIOT LAD 


which he was clinging. One of them was the 
court-house! Where was the militia? Where 
were the Minute-Men ? He made out the peaked 
roof of his cousin’s house and the great elm stand¬ 
ing beside it, and observed with some satisfaction 
that no Redcoats were close to it. Then a while 
later he saw the thread of smoke above the court¬ 
house grow thinner, and at last it disappeared 
altogether. 

Don held his position in the tree for more than 
an hour. He ground his teeth as he saw a de¬ 
tachment of soldiers leave the town and cut down 
the liberty pole on the side of the hill. Where 
were the Minute-Men and the militia? 

The main body of the regulars was well inside 
the town. At the South Bridge there was a 
small party on guard, and at the North Bridge 
was another party of about one hundred. Don 
was so much occupied with watching the Red¬ 
coats that he had failed to observe a long double 
column of Provincials coming down the hill be¬ 
yond the North Bridge; they were moving at a 
fast walk and carried their guns at the trail. 

At first glance he thought there were no more 
than a hundred of them, but as he watched he was 
forced to conclude that there were at least three 


OF OLD BOSTON 75 

hundred. He pulled himself farther out on the 
limb and waited. 

The detachment of regulars, who were on the 
far side of the bridge, hastily retired across it and 
prepared for an attack. When the Provincials 
were a few rods distant the Redcoats opened fire, 
then waited and fired again, and Don saw two 
men fall. Then he saw a succession of bright 
flashes and heard the crash of arms as the Pro¬ 
vincials returned the fire. Several of the enemy 
fell. Then there was more firing, and in a 
few minutes the British left the bridge and ran 
in great haste toward the main body, a detach¬ 
ment from which was on the way to meet them. 
The Provincials pursued the regulars over the 
bridge and then divided; one party climbed the 
hill to the east, and the other returned to the 
high grounds. 

Don found himself trembling all over; he felt 
sick and dizzy. With much difficulty he reached 
the ground, where he lay for a few minutes. On 
getting to his feet, he saw the Redcoats who had 
first crossed the North Bridge returning. In the 
town there seemed to be much confusion; the sun 
glanced on red coats and polished trimmings as 
men hurried here and there. 


76 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Don would not trust himself to climb the tree 
again, but threw himself on the ground at the 
foot of it. He would rest for a while and then 
set out on his long journey back to Boston, fairly 
confident that his cousin had not been harmed. 
He had not slept a wink since some time between 
one and two o’clock in the morning; now it was 
after ten o’clock. So when his head began to 
nod he did not try very hard to fight off sleep. 


CHAPTER VI 


ACROSS THE FLATS 

Don was wakened by the sound of firing. He 
sat up and rubbed his eyes; then, looking at the 
sun, he guessed that twelve o’clock had passed. 
He could see nothing of the Redcoats; nor could 
he see smoke anywhere inside the town. From 
the east came the sound of firing that had 
wakened him, and men with muskets were hurry¬ 
ing across fields in that direction. For a moment 
he thought of returning to his Cousin Deborah’s; 
then he decided to push for Boston as fast as he 
could. 

Half running, half walking, he made his way 
in a southeasterly direction in order to avoid the 
main road. Once he wondered whether the Red¬ 
coat Harry Hawkins was with this expedition of 
British troops, but somehow the thought was 
painful, and he turned his mind to other things. 

For some time he had been climbing a rocky 
hillside; now, on reaching the crest, he got his 
last glimpse of the skirmish. The British were 
in the road just outside of Lexington, and, far 
77 


78 


A PATRIOT LAD 


off as Don was, he could see plainly that they 
were having a hard time of it. He could see 
the flash of sabres as if the officers were urging 
their men to advance. One officer was prancing 
here and there on a spirited black horse, as if he 
had lost control of the animal. Then Don saw 
part of the King’s troops open fire and saw a 
dozen or more muskets flash in reply along an old 
stone wall on the opposite side of the road. Be¬ 
fore he heard the reports of them he saw the black 
horse fall. Another glance and he saw a com¬ 
pany of Minute-Men crossing a distant field at 
a rapid pace. The sight of a battle going on 
almost under his nose, the sound of guns, the 
smell of powder, all seemed to hold him spell¬ 
bound, and only the thought of his Aunt Martha 
alone in the little house in Pudding Lane caused 
him to turn and hurry on his way. 

Soon he was out of hearing of the firing, but 
from time to time he saw detachments of Minute- 
Men and militia marching to the east. Once he 
stopped at a solitary farmhouse and asked for 
something to eat. A woman who was alone ex¬ 
cept for a little girl of nine or ten years gave him 
bread and cheese and then prepared a small 
bundle of the food for him to take along. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


79 


Don told her what he had seen at Concord and 
at Lexington, and her lips quivered; but she 
smiled at him. “ Such a day!” she exclaimed. 
“ My husband and my three brothers have gone. 
It seems that all the men from the village have 
gone. I have heard that the town of Dedham is 
almost empty; even the company of gray-haired 
old veterans of the French Wars has gone. Such 
a day! Be careful, my boy, and return to your 
aunt as soon as possible.” 

Don thanked her for her kindness as he was 
leaving the house, and soon he was hurrying on 
his way toward Boston. From Glen Drake he 
had learned many of the secrets of woodcraft and 
had little trouble in making his way through the 
thickets in the vicinity of Fresh Pond. But 
mishaps will sometimes overtake the best of 
woodsmen. As Don was descending a slope on 
the western side of the pond he stepped on a 
loose stone, which turned under his weight and 
sent him crashing headlong to the bottom. He 
lay there with teeth set and both hands clenched; 
a sharp pain was throbbing and pounding in his 
right ankle. Little drops of perspiration stood 
out like beads on his forehead. 

For several minutes he lay there; then as the 


80 


A PATRIOT LAD 


pain decreased in violence he sat up. But later 
when he rose he found that he dared not put any 
weight at all on his right foot. Here was a 
predicament! There was not a house in sight; 
he was a long way from the nearest road; and 
night was coming on. 

He tried to climb the slope down which he had 
slid, but the effort only sent sharp pains shooting 
up his leg. Even when he crawled for only a 
dozen yards or so on his hands and knees the 
pain would force him to stop; it seemed that he 
could not move without giving the ankle a pain¬ 
ful wrench. Several times he shouted for help, 
but he had little hope that anybody would be in 
that vicinity to hear him. So at last he dragged 
himself to a little cove that was overgrown with 
birches and willows; there he loosened his shoe 
and rubbed his swollen ankle. 

“ Well,” he said to himself, “ I’ve got to stay 
here all night, and I haven’t a thing except my 

knife and-” He interrupted himself with an 

exclamation; his knife was not in his pocket. 
Then he remembered that he had left it at his 
Cousin Deborah’s. 

The missing knife made his situation even more 
desperate than he had supposed it was. With 



OF OLD BOSTON 


81 


a knife he might have fashioned a bow such as 
he had once seen Glen Drake use for lighting a 
fire; as it was, he should have to keep warm as 
best he could. 

The first thing he did was to choose a con¬ 
venient hollow that was protected at the back by 
the hill and on the sides by birches and the wil¬ 
lows. Then, breaking off a quantity of branches, 
he fashioned a rude but effective windbreak for 
the front. By the time he had finished doing 
that work it was twilight, and a cool wind was 
blowing across the pond. 

Don opened the package of food that the good 
lady at the farmhouse had given him. There 
were bread and cheese and three small ginger 
cakes; and when he had eaten half the food and 
put the rest by till morning he felt a good deal 
better. Pulling his coat up round his neck, he 
snuggled down on the light branches with which 
he had carpeted the floor of his bower and pre¬ 
pared to wait for morning. 

All light had faded from the sky, and the wind 
was rising steadily. Loose twigs all round him 
tapped incessantly against one another in tune 
with the wind. Don shivered and forgot the dull 
pain in his ankle. 


82 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Out in the pond and down close to the shore on 
both sides of the cove he could hear strange little 
splashes, and in the thickets behind him a pair of 
owls were calling every now and then. If it had 
not been for thoughts of Aunt Martha, Don 
might really have enjoyed his experience. He 
did not doubt that he should be able to walk in 
the morning, and he rather liked being out alone 
as Glen Drake had been many, many times. 

Once he dozed off and awoke some time later, 
feeling cold and hungry. The twigs were tap¬ 
ping all about him; somewhere far to the south 
a hound was baying mournfully; and in front of 
him the moon had covered the pond with a silvery 
sheen. 

Again Don dozed off, and then awoke with a 
violent start. Somebody—or something—was 
moving about in the underbrush on the slope 
above him. Then a stone rattled down and 
bounded into the water. Startled at the loud 
splash it made, Don gave an involuntary excla¬ 
mation. An instant later he heard someone call 
his name. 

“ O Don! ” the call was repeated. 

Don sat up. “Who is it?” he shouted in 
reply. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


83 


“ Yer safe and sound? Praise be for that! ” 

“ Glen!” cried Don, pulling himself upward. 

In a moment the old trapper was at the foot 
of the slope, and Don was explaining the accident 
that had befallen him. 

“ Well, yer a plucky lad,” said Glen. “ I 
tracked ye all the way from Concord, and when 
I found you was headin’ fer Fresh Pond I began 
to have my fears. Here, now, let me take ye on 
my back, and we’ll talk as we go along.” 

Don was a sturdy boy and unusually solid for 
his age, but Glen Drake lifted him to his back as 
if he had been no more than a child; Don could 
feel the muscles in the old trapper’s shoulders 
play up and down as Glen climbed the slope 
easily and walked quite as well as if it had been 
daylight. 

“What happened to the Redcoats, Glen?” 
asked Don. 

“ They got licked,” Glen replied promptly. 
“ They ran most all the way from Lexin’ton, and 
some of ’em fell and lay still with their tongues 
a-hanging out; they were that tired. They lost 
a lot of men, Don, and serves ’em right. Our 
boys kept a-coming from all directions—and most 
of ’em know how to shoot too! I tell you, if a 


84 


A PATRIOT LAD 


second force of the King’s men hadn’t come out, 
not one of the Redcoats that tried to burn Con¬ 
cord would have got back alive. Now they’re 
sewed up tight in Boston; we’ve got an army 
watchin’ the town, and it’s growing every min¬ 
ute.” 

“ How’s Aunt Martha, and how am I ever 
going to get back to her? ” 

“ Your Aunt Martha is all right—at least, 
she was the last I saw her. As to how you’re 
a-goin’ to get back, I can’t say for certain. But 
I’ll get you back somehow; you trust me for 
that.” 

“ Where’s Uncle David? ” 

“ He’s at Cambridge with the army. I’m sort 
of with the army myself, though I don’t guess I’ll 
ever do much drillin’.” Glen Drake chuckled. 
“ Morning’s a-coming, Don; morning’s a-coming, 
and we’re at war! ” 

Don thought of his Aunt Martha, alone in 
Pudding Lane. 

All the while Glen had been tramping with 
long strides in the direction of the main part of 
Cambridge. Only once did he pause, and then 
it was to fill his pipe. At last he turned into a 
lane at the right of the road and approached a 


OF OLD BOSTON 


85 


small house that overlooked the river. By that 
time dawn was well on the way. 

Don observed two or three soldiers at the side 
of the house; they were cooking bacon over a 
small fire. “ Hi, there! ” shouted one. “ I see 
you found your boy.” 

“ Yes, I found him,” replied Glen. “ Where’s 
Dave Hollis? ” 

“ He hasn’t come in yet.” 

Glen carried Don into the house, spoke a few 
words to a woman who was preparing the morn¬ 
ing meal and then, at her bidding, climbed the 
stairs. 

By the time the rays of the sun were slanting 
down on the river Don was asleep deep within 
the feathery softness of a huge four-posted bed. 
The woman down-stairs had given him a delicious 
breakfast, and after he had eaten it the old 
trapper had rubbed his injured ankle with 
some potent, vile-smelling ointment that he said 
would cure anything from rheumatism to nose¬ 
bleed. 

Near the middle of the afternoon Don awoke 
and a little to his astonishment saw his Uncle 
David sitting beside Glen at one side of the bed. 
“ Uncle Dave! ” he cried. 


86 


A PATRIOT LAD 


In a moment David Hollis had clasped his 
nephew’s hands in his own. “ You’ve had a hard 
time, Donald, my boy,” he said. “ How do you 
feel? ” 

“All right, except for my ankle; I gave it a 
bad twist when I fell.” 

“Yes; Glen has told me. I hope you’ll be 
able to walk soon.” David Hollis looked at his 
nephew anxiously. 

“ In two or three days maybe,” said the 
trapper. 

Don groaned. “Not until then? ” he asked. 
“ Meanwhile Aunt Martha is all alone.” 

“ Yes, and she needs you, Donald.” David 
Hollis was plainly worried. “ The worst of it 
is,” he continued, “ that the King’s soldiers have 
fortified the Neck and are mighty watchful. 
There’s no way of getting in or out.” 

“ You’re wrong there,” said Glen. “ The back 
harbor’s dry at low water, you know.” 

David Hollis looked doubtful. “ It’d be too 
great a risk to try and cross that way,” he said. 
“ If anything should happen, I’d never forgive 
myself.” 

“ Now, listen here,” said Glen; “ I promised 
the boy I’d get him back, and, by thunder, I’m a 


OF OLD BOSTON 


87 


man of my word. A dark night, a little fog, and 
nothing’s easier.” 

Don’s uncle said nothing for several minutes. 
At last he grasped the old trapper’s hand. 
“ Glen,” he said, “ I’ve never yet known you to 
fail in an undertaking. May you succeed in this. 
I see no other way.” 

The next day was Friday, and thanks to the 
trapper’s ointment Don was able to walk a very 
little. In the evening his uncle came to talk with 
him again. “ I probably shan’t see you again 
for some time,” he said. “ My company is leav¬ 
ing Cambridge. When you see your Aunt 
Martha I want you to say this to her: tell her 
first of all that I’m safe and well and that she 
needn’t worry. Second, tell her that at the first 
opportunity I want her to leave the town; it’s 
the height of folly to remain. And, Donald ”— 
David Hollis spoke in a low voice,—“ tell her I 
love her. And now, my boy, good-bye, and God 
bless you! ” 

That was the last that Don saw of his uncle 
for many, many weeks. The next day he and 
the trapper went for a short walk among the 
narrow, twisting streets of the town. Soldiers 
were quartered in many of the houses, and people 


88 


A PATRIOT LAD 


were talking of others that were soon to arrive. 
One man remarked that as a result of the British 
attack on Concord and Lexington an army of 
twenty thousand Provincials had arisen almost 
overnight. There was much brave talk of attack¬ 
ing the King’s troops in Boston and of driving 
them headlong into the sea. 

By Tuesday, Don’s ankle was strong again, 
but he had to walk with great care. Then early 
one foggy morning Glen Drake announced that 
the time had come to cross the flats. 

The two had a hot supper together down in 
the kitchen, and an hour or so later they started 
toward the river. 

Glen led the way and in spite of the heavy fog 
and the darkness stepped boldly yet as silently 
as a cat. They had gone beyond the last fringe 
of dwelling houses when the trapper put the end 
of a buckskin thong into Don’s hand. “ Keep 
tight hold,” he whispered, “ and don’t talk.” 

Don thought he had never seen a blacker 
night—blackness and fog overhead, blackness 
and fog all round them, with here and there a 
dim yellow light. Several times, at the sound of 
footsteps, Glen paused to let a Provincial sentry 
pass unseen ahead of them. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


89 


Once they turned sharply to the left and 
walked for almost half an hour over uneven 
grassy land. Then they turned to the right, and 
soon Don felt his feet sink into cool mud. Glen 
put his mouth close to the boy’s ear and 
whispered, “ How’s the ankle? ” 

“All right, Glen,” Don replied softly. 

They pressed forward slowly. Sometimes 
reeds and cattails swept against their hands; 
sometimes they seemed to be walking on firm 
sand. The fog, cold and oppressive, was blow¬ 
ing in from the east and seemed to deaden all 
sounds, even the quash, quash of their feet. Don’s 
fingers were like ice as he clung to the thong. 
He had no idea in what direction he was going, 
but he had confidence in his sturdy guide. Then 
a bell tolled somewhere ahead, and a few minutes 
later he heard a horse neigh loudly. 

A quarter of an hour passed, then half an hour. 
Finally they were among more cattails. Glen 
led the way cautiously among them and at last 
climbed a gentle slope. They had reached the 
Boston side. 

They were making their way upward, when a 
stick cracked close at hand, and a sharp voice 
rang out: “ Halt! Who’s there? ” 


90 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Don felt Glen’s arm go around his shoulders, 
and in a twinkling the two were flat on their 
faces. 

“ Who’s there? ” came the voice of the sentry 
again. 

Don felt his heart pounding at his ribs and the 
trapper’s great arm pressing downward on him 
like a heavy weight. He heard the sentry ad¬ 
vance and knew that Glen had reached into his 
belt for something. 

Crunch, crunch sounded the footsteps, each 
louder than the last one. Glen had drawn back 
his arm and was gathering himself for a spring, 
when the footsteps ceased. A moment later the 
two heard them begin again, but now they were 
growing fainter and fainter. 

Glen got softly to his feet and pulled Don 
upward. Together they hurried forward and did 
not stop till they reached a clump of trees by the 
side of what appeared to be a path. 

“ Do you know where you are? ” whispered 
Glen. 

“ No,” replied Don. 

“ Well, this is Cambridge Street. You’ll have 
to follow it alone. Go carefully, and if you meet 
anyone—well, don’t let ’em see you; that’ll be 


OF OLD BOSTON 91 

best. And now, good-bye, Don. Take good 
care of your Aunt Martha.” 

They shook hands in the darkness, and a mo¬ 
ment later Don was alone. 


CHAPTER VII 


A'CJD APPLETON 

Luck seemed to walk hand in hand with Don 
after Glen Drake hud vanished into the darkness. 
The boy set out at once along Cambridge Street, 
walking slowly, pa vising frequently, and keeping 
well at the side of the road, where the shadows 
were thickest. When he came within sight of the 
first house he stopped to consider, but the sudden 
barking of a dog caused him to turn abruptly into 
the field at the right. He crossed George Street 
and skirted Beacon Hill. Near Valley Acre 
he came unexpectedly on a large overhanging 
rock with two scrub pines growing in front of it; 
the spot was so sheltered and so fragrant and 
dry with pine needles that he decided to remain 
there till dawn. 

Aunt Martha was an early riser, and it was 
well that she was, for shortly before six o’clock 
the knocker rose and fell heavily three times on 
the door. She left her stove and hastened to 
92 


OF OLD BOSTON 


93 


answer the knocks. The next moment she was 
perhaps the most astonished woman in Boston. 
“Why—why, Donald!” she cried, and then 
caught her nephew in her arms. 

Don had the breath almost crushed from his 
body, and the little prepared speech of greeting 
that he had had all ready seemed to have fled 
from his memory. “Aunt Martha,” he gasped. 
“ I didn’t know—you were so—so strong! ” 

“ Now,” said his aunt, releasing him at last, 
“ tell me everything, Donald,—everything! ” 
Hungry as Don was, he made no mention of 
food but sat down in the low white rocker beside 
the window and began with the thing that was 
most vivid in his mind—the skirmish at Concord. 

And all the while that he talked, Aunt Martha 
sat pale and rigid in the chair beside him. Only 
once were her eyes moist, and that was when Don 
gave her the last of his uncle’s three messages; 
but she said nothing and merely nodded for him 
to continue. 

“ Well, I guess that’s all,” said Don at last. 
“ You know, Aunt Martha, I’d have been home 
long ago except for my ankle.” 

“ I know, Donald; and I’m thankful, I hope. 
It might have been worse. And now let me get 


94 


A PATRIOT LAD 


you something to eat. Oh, Donald, you , ll never 
know how glad I am to have you with me again.” 

It was a long while before Aunt Martha ceased 
to ask questions; and then it was Don’s turn. A 
great change, he learned, had come over the town 
even in the few days that he had been away from 
it. It was in a state of siege, cut off from the 
outside world, and food was scarce among the 
poor. There were suffering and distress; many 
persons, like Aunt Martha, had relatives and 
friends in the Continental army and thought with 
dread and apprehension of what might happen if 
the besiegers should attack. 

“ I don’t know what’s to become of us, truly I 
don’t,” said Aunt Martha. “ With your uncle 
and Glen with the army, it’s most too much to 
bear. Fortunately, though, we shall not lack for 
food; the store’s well stocked.” 

“And that stuff in the cellar, is it still there? ” 
asked Don. 

“ Yes, and it’s likely to remain.” 

“We might be able to sell it,” Don suggested 
hopefully. Then he added, “ If we could only 
get it to the army in Cambridge! ” 

But Aunt Martha only smiled and shook her 
head. “ Don,” she said, “ would you rather be 


OF OLD BOSTON 


95 


in Cambridge, or perhaps with your cousin in 
Concord, than here? ” 

“ I want to be with you,” Don replied firmly 
and then wondered at the look of quick relief that 
came over his aunt’s face. 

The next day he learned the reason for it. 
General Gage had agreed to allow those families 
who wished to leave the town to go in safety. 
But Aunt Martha had not changed her mind. 
In spite of the supplications of her husband, 
whom she loved dearly, and in spite of the risks 
that she ran in remaining, she would not leave 
the little house in which she had been born and 
had lived most of her life. If she was stubborn, 
it was stubbornness of a defiant, heroic sort, and 
those who knew her respected her for it, though 
some called her a “ foolish woman.” 

As a result of General Gage’s permission 
hundreds of families did leave the town—a cir¬ 
cumstance that greatly alarmed the Tories, who 
believed that as long as there were women and 
children in the town the Continentals would not 
attack. So at last the general withdrew his per¬ 
mission, and the town settled down to wait and 
to watch. 

Though there was no longer any school for 


96 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Don to attend he found plenty of things to keep 
him busy. He helped his aunt about the store 
in the daytime and sat and talked with her at 
night. And the conversation always was of his 
uncle and of Glen Drake and the army, of which 
they knew little enough. Then always before 
they went to bed Aunt Martha would spread the 
old thumb-worn Bible on her knees and read a 
chapter aloud. 

Frequently of an afternoon Don would take 
Sailor and go for a long walk as he used to do. 
One bright warm day early in May the two were 
on their way home from a long jaunt, and were 
walking along between the elms on Common 
Street, when Don observed a group of Redcoats 
some distance in front of him. “ Here, Sailor,” 
he called, but the terrier paid no heed and ran 
on ahead. 

When Don was within a few yards of the 
group he recognized two familiar figures—Tom 
Bullard, who as aide to General Ruggles of the 
Tories, now wore a white sash round his left 
sleeve, and Harry Hawkins, the Redcoat, whose 
life Don had saved. The two were laughing and 
talking together. 

“ Here’s one of the young rebels,” cried Tom 


OF OLD BOSTON 


97 


as Don drew near. “And here’s his rebel dog. 
Get out of here, you pup.” 

Don made no answer but spoke sharply to 
Sailor, and the dog trotted to his side. 

“ Good day to you, young sire,” said Hawkins 
pleasantly. 

“ Good day,” replied Don, and then colored as 
he observed a boy of perhaps his own age who 
happened to be passing with a fishing pole over 
his shoulder. 

“ Do you know him, Hawkins? ” inquired Tom 
in astonishment and then as Sailor left Don’s 
side and started back toward the group he added 
angrily: “ Git, you pup, git! ” 

But Sailor was all friendliness as he trotted 
toward the soldiers. 

“ Come here, Sailor!” ordered Don, stopping 
and snapping his fingers. 

But at that instant Tom’s foot shot out and, 
striking the terrier in the chest, lifted him into 
the air. With a loud yelp the dog landed on his 
back and then, scrambling to his feet, ran to Don 
and stood beside him, trembling. 

“ I’ll learn a rebel dog a trick or two,” cried 
Tom. “And before long --” 

But Tom never finished the sentence. Before 



98 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Don could take more than two steps forward, 
and before any of the soldiers could interfere, the 
boy whom Don had just passed dropped his 
fishing pole, and, lowering his head, rushed at 
Tom. One of his fists struck the Tory squarely 
in the mouth and sent him reeling; the other 
struck him on the ear and sent him crashing to 
the ground. 

Tom was a big boy and very active. In a 
moment he was on his feet and had closed with 
his opponent, who was easily twenty pounds the 
lighter. 

“ Fight! ” cried a Redcoat. “ Clear the way 
there! ” 

But there was no fight; at least it lasted only 
until Harry Hawkins could spring forward and 
pull the two apart. “Stop it!” he cried and 
pushed Tom’s assailant away. “And you,” he 
said sharply to Tom, “ get along and be quick 
about it! I thought better than that of you! ” 

“ Why, Hawkins-” 

“ Never mind that; you Reserve a licking, and 
if the boy hadn’t been smaller than you, I’d have 
stood and watched you take it. Kick a dog! 
You ought to be kicked, yourself! ” 

Tom Bullard’s mouth opened and closed. He 



OF OLD BOSTON 


99 


gulped several times and then turned for sym¬ 
pathy to the other soldiers; but they were laugh¬ 
ing at him. With low mutterings he picked up 
his hat and strode abruptly off across the Com¬ 
mon. The soldiers, still laughing, started to¬ 
ward the tented area. 

Don gathered Sailor in his arms and walked 
to where the boy was standing; he had shouldered 
his fishing pole and was blowing on the knuckles 
of his right hand. 

He was a boy very much like Don in general 
appearance—sturdy, active and alert-looking. 
His hair was of a reddish brown, and his eyes, 
dark and sparkling, seemed to flash with little 
points of fire. As Don approached him, a smile 
played about the corners of his rather large 
mouth. 

Don extended his hand, and the boy grasped 
it. “ I want to thank you,” said Don, “ for 
thrashing Tom Bullard. My name is Donald 
Alden; I live in Pudding Lane.” 

The boy grinned. “ Mine’s Jud Appleton.” 
He patted the head of the terrier. “ Nice look¬ 
ing dog you have. When that big Tory kicked 
him I couldn’t help sailing into him. He’d have 
licked me, though, if it hadn’t been for the Red- 


100 A PATRIOT LAD 

coat. My, but didn’t he talk hot to him after¬ 
ward! ” 

The two boys laughed heartily. “ You surely 
hit him hard,” said Don. 

“ Did I? ” said Jud. “ Well, not hard enough, 
I reckon. Anybody who’d kick a dog—my, how 
I hate ’em! I hate Redcoats too, and Tories 
worse—and when a Tory kicks a dog I just boil 
over.” 

The boy’s eyes were flashing again, and his 
fists were tightly clenched. Don felt an instant 
liking for him. 

“ Say,” said Jud quickly, “ do you know that 
Redcoat? I saw him speak to you.” 

“ Well, yes,” Don replied and colored again. 
“ You see, I—I saved him from drowning once.” 

“ From drowning! ” 

“ Yes; that is—it was before Concord.” 

“ Oh, I see.” Jud seemed somewhat relieved. 
“ Do you know the Tory? ” 

“ We used to be good friends once. His name 
is Tom Bullard.” 

“ Oh, yes; so you said. Say, come on along 
home with me, won’t you? I live just down here 
in Hog Alley. I’ve got the finest bunch of 
kittens you ever saw.” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


101 


“ You like kittens? ” 

“ I like all kinds of animals,” Jud replied 
gravely. 

That was enough for Don, and he accompanied 
his new friend past West Street and along to¬ 
ward the alley. 

“ It’s no fun, living so close to the Common 
these days,” said Jud. “All you see is Redcoats. 
And how I hate ’em! My father and my two 
brothers are in the army, and I only wish I could 
be there too. A drummer boy is what I’d like 
to be.” 

“ So would I,” replied Don. “ I was up at 
Concord and saw the fight-” 

“Did you!” cried Jud. “Tell me about it. 
And how did you ever get back? ” 

By the time Don had told him something of 
the skirmish and of Glen Drake and his Uncle 
David the two boys were at Jud’s house. A 
poor, miserable-looking, one-story little place it 
was, with a cracked weather-worn door and a 
window on either side that looked out across the 
road on a large triangular field covered with 
clover and dandelions. 

“ That’s our cow over there,” said Jud, “ and 
those are our chickens. We had twenty-six, but 



102 


A PATRIOT LAD 


we lost four the other night. Ma thinks a skunk 
got ’em, but I think it was Redcoats.” 

He led the way to a shed behind the house, and 
a moment later Don was looking at six fluffy 
black and white kittens nestled in the folds of a 
burlap bag. As he bent over them the mother 
cat came running from a corner of the shed, and 
he started backward. Sailor backed away and 
sat down; he had suffered enough for one day. 

“ She won’t hurt you,” said Jud, laughing. 
“ Will you, puss? ” He played with the kittens 
for several minutes, stroking and calling each by 
name while the mother cat sat by and watched 
contentedly. “ They’re pretty well grown now 
and about ready to shift for themselves. That’s 
a good dog of yours to sit there like that. I had 
a hard time to keep my dog away from them at 
first. Say, wouldn’t you like to have one? Ma 
says I can’t keep ’em all.” 

“ Yes, I would,” replied Don. “ We haven’t 
any, and a cat might be good company for my 
aunt.” 

“ Well, here’s a nice one,” and Jud lifted one 
of the kittens that was all black except for one 
white foot. “ See, she has one white shoe on; she 
lost the others.” 


OF OLD BOSTON 103 

“ I’ll call it Whitefoot, then,” said Don and 
laughed. 

“Judson, are you home?” came a woman's 
voice from the house. 

“ Just got home, Ma.” 

“ Well, come here; we lost two more chickens 
last night.” 

“ Thunder! ” exclaimed Jud in a low voice. 

“ Yes, two more,” repeated Mrs. Appleton, 
appearing at the door of the shed. “ I counted 
them just now, and there’s only twenty. Oh! ” 
she exclaimed at sight of Don. 

“ This is Don Alden,” said Jud; “ he lives up 
in Puddin’ Lane.” 

Don found Jud’s mother a pleasant, talkative 
little woman who in some ways reminded him of 
his aunt, though she was not so old. When Jud 
had explained to her about their adventure with 
Tom Bullard and about Don’s trip to Concord 
she insisted that he stay and have something to 
eat with them. 

Later as Don was about to set out with his new 
pet, Jud whispered to him: “ I’m going to stay 
up to-night and catch that chicken-thief. I wish 
you could be here with me. Can’t you come 
back?” 


104 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ I don’t know,” Don replied doubtfully. 
“ I’d like to, but there’s my aunt, you know; I 
don’t like to leave her alone. Have you got a 
gun or anything? ” 

“ No; but I’ve got a hickory club, and I can 
throw a stone pretty straight.” 

“ I’d like to sit up with you,” said Don. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE BOYS SET A TRAP 

The next day was fair and warm, but on the 
following day the wind changed, and the drab, 
suffering town of Boston was shrouded in a thick 
blanket of fog. Don rolled over in bed and 
stretched and yawned. 

“ Donald,” came the voice of his aunt, “ it’s 
high time you were down here to breakfast. 
You’re awake, ’cause I hear the bed a-creaking. 
Come on now; Mrs. Lancaster is coming to-day.” 

Don lay and blinked for a moment; then he 
sprang out of bed. If Mrs. Lancaster were 
coming, probably she would stay all night—she 
usually did. Don had almost given up hope of 
going to Jud’s and of sitting-up with him to 
catch the skunk or whatever was stealing his 
chickens; but now, if Mrs. Lancaster were com¬ 
ing, he would not mind leaving his aunt for a 
while in the evening. 

At breakfast Aunt Martha said that her visitor 
would remain overnight; and when Don had told 
105 


106 


A PATRIOT LAD 


her what he wanted to do she objected at first, as 
he knew she would, and then consented after he 
had promised her to keep far away from any 
skunk that might come after Jud’s chickens. 

At evening when Don set out for Hog Alley 
the fog was still heavy. The houses on the op¬ 
posite side of Pudding Lane, which was one of 
the narrowest streets in town, could hardly be 
seen. And on the Common even the scarlet- 
coated soldiers were almost invisible at a distance 
of twenty yards. 

“ I don’t know but what Ma was right,” said 
Jud when Don reached the shabby little house in 
Hog Alley. “ There was a skunk round here 
last night—a big fellow too, from the smell of 
him. But I had the hen-house locked tight and 
all the chickens inside; so he didn’t get a one. I 
was wishing you’d been here though—are you 
going to stay to-night? ” 

“ For a while, if you want me.” 

“ I surely do! ” Jud was very positive about it. 
There was no doubt that, even on such short 
acquaintance, he liked Don quite as well as Don 
liked him. “ Well, I’ve got a plan,” he said 
eagerly. “ I want you to tell me what you think 
of it.” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


107 


“ Let’s hear it,” said Don. 

“ Well, come around to the chicken yard and 
I’ll explain,” said Jud. “ Now here,” he said a 
few moments later, “ you see our chicken yard 
has a high fence and a small gate at the far 
end.” 

“ I see,” said Don; “ the gate opens out and 
latches on the outside.” 

“ Yes, and it’s a strong latch too. Well, I 
thought we could leave the gate open and attach 
a long rope to it and run it through the fence 
on this side and back to the wagon shed here, 
where you and I could wait. Then if Mr. Skunk 
comes along and enters the yard, all we’ll have 
to do is to pull the gate shut and we’ll have him. 
Of course he won’t be able to hurt the chicks 
’cause they’ll be locked tight in the hen-house. 
What do you think of the idea, Don? ” 

“ Mighty good; but what’ll we do with the 
skunk when we catch it? ” 

“ Oh, Fred Ferguson next door will kill it for 
us in the morning.” 

“And what if it shouldn’t be a skunk? What 
if it should be a Redcoat? ” 

Jud laughed. “ I guess we shan’t catch a Red¬ 
coat,” he replied. “ I hate ’em so much I guess 


108 


A PATRIOT LAB 

I was unfair the other day. It’s a skunk all 
right; you’ll see.” 

“ I hope so,” said Don. “ We’d he in a nice 
fix if we caught a Redcoat.” 

“ Let’s set our trap,” said Jud. “ The first 
thing is to find enough rope.” 

The boys at once began to search the wagon 
shed, and by the time they had found enough 
lengths, had fastened them to one another and 
had tied one end of the improvised rope to the 
gate of the chicken yard, darkness had set in in 
earnest. Carrying the other end of the rope 
across the yard and passing it between the wires 
of the fence, they retired with it to the door of 
the wagon shed to wait. 

“ Just a moment,” said Jud and crossed the 
yard to the house. 

When he returned he carried with him a pan of 
cornbread and two large apples. “ This is going 
to be fun,” he said. “ It’s like being out in the 
woods, trapping.” 

“ It is a little,” Don agreed; and then he told 
Jud more about Glen Drake and about the trips 
that the old trapper and he had made together. 
“ You’ll have to come to the house some time 
when he’s there,” he said. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


109 


“ I’d like to,” said Jud, “ but if he’s with the 
army, it’ll be a long time before he can come to 
Boston again.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” replied Don. “ If Glen 
wanted to come very much he’d come, and the 
King’s men would never catch him either! ” 

For a while the boys sat silent, munching corn- 
bread and apples in the doorway of the old shed. 
All round them was darkness, damp and chill. 
Up on Common Street a wagon creaked past; 
the driver, whoever he was, was singing a boister¬ 
ous song. After a while he passed out of hear¬ 
ing; and only the occasional challenge of a sentry 
far across the Common broke the stillness. 

Don’s head was beginning to nod; but Jud, 
rope in hand, was wide awake. 44 Not asleep, 
are you, Don? ” he whispered. 

44 What? Oh, yes.” Don shook his head from 
side to side several times. 44 Guess I was asleep. 
Wonder what time it is? ” 

44 Don’t know; I’ve been listening for a bell.” 

44 It won’t do to fall asleep,” muttered Don. 

But in a few minutes his head was on his chest, 
and his shoulder was resting comfortably against 
the side of the doorway. 

Half an hour passed, and at the end of it Jud 


110 


A PATRIOT LAD 


was nodding between sleep and wakefulness. 
Suddenly he felt a slight tug on the rope in his 
hands. With a start he sat bolt upright, and the 
next instant the chickens in the hen-house began 
to cackle furiously. 

“ Don! Don! ” whispered Jud and seized his 
friend by the shoulder. 

“ What! ” Don was wide awake in a flash. 

But before Jud could reply something struck 
the fence. Jud gave a mighty heave on the rope, 
and as the gate came shut with a harsh bang both 
boys heard someone exclaim aloud. 

“A Redcoat! ” gasped Jud. “ What shall we 
do?” 

“ Quick, call somebody! ” cried Don, springing 
to his feet. 

Both boys raised their voices and then rushed 
toward the house. The chickens were making a 
terrible noise now; and Jud’s dog, which he had 
tied at the back of the wagon shed, was barking 
at the top of his voice. 

Whoever was in the chicken yard was having a 
hard time getting out. Don, standing at the cor¬ 
ner of the house, could hear the fellow pounding 
furiously at the gate and shaking it with all his 
might. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


111 


In the midst of the commotion a window 
opened in the house next door, and then a light 
gleamed within. “ There’s Fred Ferguson,” 
said Jud. “O Fred, O Fred!” he shouted. 
“ Come quick! ” 

“ Judson, Judson, what on earth is the mat¬ 
ter? ” It was the voice of Mrs. Appleton. 

Jud did not reply, for at that moment Fred 
Ferguson, partly dressed and carrying a lighted 
candle, which he was shading with his hand, ap¬ 
peared on the back doorstep of the Ferguson 
house. He was a big raw-boned young fellow, 
and both boys noticed that he was carrying 
a heavy stick under one arm. “ What’s 
wrong? ” he shouted and advanced toward the 
fence. 

“ Somebody’s in our chicken yard,” replied 
Jud. “ Come on, Don,” he added, and the boys 
hurried toward Fred. 

“ Open the gate and let me out of this! ” came 
a voice out of the fog, and Don started. 

The fence shook violently, and the dog and the 
chickens increased their clamor. 

“ Open the gate, I say! ” 

“ Leave off shaking that fence,” cried Fred. 
“ Who are you, and what are you doing in there? 


112 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Leave off shaking that gate, I tell you—if you 
break it, I’ll whale ye! ” 

“ Open up, then! ” 

“ Come here, you boys, and tell me who 
it is,” said Fred and held the candle above his 
head. 

Both boys got a brief glimpse of the person 
within the yard, and Jud said quickly, “ ’Tain’t a 
Redcoat.” 

“No; ’tain’t a Redcoat,” said Fred. “ Now 
come here,” he said in a loud voice. “ Come here 
and let me see ye, and tell me what you’re a-doing 
in there.” 

“ Open that gate and stand aside—or—or, by 
thunder, I’ll shoot! ” 

“ Judson! Come here! ” cried his mother from 
the doorway. “ Donald, you too! ” 

There was a moment of silence, and then Fred 
said evenly: “ I’ll risk a shot from a chicken- 
thief.” 

With those words he unlatched the gate and 
threw it open. “ Now come here and let’s see 
what kind of a person ye are,” he said and waited 
with club poised in one hand. 

“ Let me hold the candle,” said Don. 

He was advancing to take it when the fellow 


OF OLD BOSTON 


113 


in the yard made a sudden rush. Don saw Fred’s 
club descend and heard it strike something hard. 
Then Fred went over backward, but just before 
the candle went out Don had a glimpse of the 
intruder’s face as the fellow rushed past and 
vanished into the darkness. It was Tom Bul¬ 
lard! 

“ Tarnation!” exclaimed Fred, getting to his 
feet. “ Can’t see a thing. He’s gone, blast 
him! What a tormented fool I was to let him 
rush me like that! ” 

The quick footsteps of the thief were becoming 
fainter and fainter in the distance. Then they 
ceased abruptly. 

“ Who was it, Fred? ” asked Jud. 

“ Don’t know.” Fred was angry with himself 
and spoke sharply. “ Didn’t get much of a look 
at him and wouldn’t know him again if I saw him. 
Well, he won’t come back; that’s certain.” 

“ Judson, didn’t I call you? ” 

“ Yes’m. Don, where are you? Come into 
the house for a minute.” 

“ No; I’d best be going,” replied Don quickly. 

But before he went he whispered to Jud: “ Do 
you know who the fellow was? It was Tom Bul¬ 
lard! ” 


114 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ Tom Bullard! The fellow who kicked your 
dog? ” 

“ Yes; I’m sure of it; I saw his face just be¬ 
fore the candle went out.” 

Jud whistled softly. 

“ Judson Greenleaf Appleton, if you don’t 
come into the house right straight this min¬ 
ute -” 

“ Good night, Jud,” said Don and hurried out 
into the alley. 

A bell was striking the hour of ten o’clock as 
Don reached Marlborough Street. Almost no 
one was abroad at that late hour, and only here 
and there a light gleamed soft and yellow through 
the heavy fog. He passed the Old South Meet¬ 
ing-House and a few minutes later was in Pud¬ 
ding Lane. 

Mrs. Lancaster and Aunt Martha were just 
preparing to go to bed, when Don entered, out 
of breath and red of face. 

“ Well, Donald,” said his aunt, “ I was think¬ 
ing it was high time you returned.” 

“ Did you catch your skunk? ” inquired Mrs. 
Lancaster. 

Don could not help grinning. “ Well, yes; I 
guess we did.” 



115 


OF OLD BOSTON 

“You guess!” Aunt Martha was mildly 
astonished. “ Just what do you mean, Donald? ” 

“ It wasn’t a real skunk that was after Jud 
Appleton’s chickens,” Don replied. “ It was 
Tom Bullard.” 

“ Goodness! ” exclaimed both ladies. 

And Don hastened to explain what had hap¬ 
pened while he was gone. 

“ Wasn’t I just a-saying,” said Mrs. Lancaster 
when Don had finished, “ wasn’t I just a-saying, 
Martha, that you can’t trust a Tory out of your 
sight? Wasn’t I, now?” 

“ You were, Hannah.” 

“And Tom Bullard—well, I always said he 
was a bad one.” 

And Don was thinking the same thing as he 
climbed the stairs to bed a few minutes later. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE REGULARS EMBARK 

Early the next morning Don was hard at 
work washing the windows at the front of the 
store. He had cleaned them on the inside and 
was about to start on the outside, when Jud 
crossed the square and hailed him. Over his 
shoulder he was carrying two fishing poles. 

“ Where are you going? ” asked Don. 

“ Up to the mill-pond. I thought maybe 
you’d come along, so I brought an extra pole.” 

“ Sure,” said Don; “ but I’ll have to finish 
these windows first.” 

“ I’ll help you,” Jud replied promptly and, 
setting down the poles, rolled up his sleeves. 

While the two boys were cleaning and polish¬ 
ing the glass Tom Bullard happened to turn into 
the lane from King Street. It was clear that he 
had not expected to meet the boys and did not 
want them to see him; for he had no sooner spied 
them than he stopped and made as if to turn 
back; but Jud’s sharp eyes had already caught 
116 


OF OLD BOSTON 


117 


sight of him. “ Here’s the chicken-thief, Don,” 
he whispered. 

Don stopped work to look. It is to Tom’s 
credit perhaps that he did not turn on his heel 
then and there. What he did was to lift his chin 
a trifle and, choosing the opposite side of the 
street, march past without looking either to the 
right or to the left. It was really a hard thing to 
do, for Don and Jud were staring at him and 
grinning frankly. 

“He’s got his head pretty high, hasn’t he?” 
said Jud in a loud whisper. 

“ But not high enough to hide that hump 
above his left eye,” replied Don. 

“ That’s where Fred’s stick landed,” said Jud. 
“ Just look how high he holds his head—just like 
a chicken! ” 

Both boys chuckled, and a moment later they 
laughed outright when Tom’s foot struck an 
upraised brick, and he stumbled. At the corner 
of Water Street, Tom turned and shook his fist. 

Jud’s eyes flashed, but Don was silent. “And 
to think,” he said at last, “ that he used to be 
my best friend! ” 

“He’s not worth thinking about,” said Jud 
shortly. “ Come on, Don, let’s finish these win- 


118 A PATRIOT LAB 

dows in a hurry. I wonder how the fish are 
biting? ” 

But there were other things beside fish to 
wonder about on that day in early May. The 
people of Boston knew little enough of what was 
going on round them. Every other person was 
wondering how soon the American army would 
attack the British, and whether the Redcoats 
would risk going out and fighting in the open. 
Already there had been skirmishes and they con¬ 
tinued to occur off and on throughout the rest of 
the month; but although the Americans were 
generally successful, the skirmishes really did not 
amount to much. 

Word had somehow seeped into the beleaguered 
town that the Continental force consisted of six¬ 
teen thousand men and that fortifications were 
being prepared in Cambridge and along the 
Mystic River; and it was whispered that men 
from all the other Colonies as far south as Vir¬ 
ginia were flocking to join the army. But 
Gage’s men scoffed at such reports; and although 
none of them dared venture outside the town they 
also scoffed at the idea that they were in a state 
of siege. A body of undisciplined farmers oppose 
them, the King’s soldiers ? Preposterous! 


OF OLD BOSTON 


119 


What the King’s men did not realize was that 
many of them, especially the officers, had fought 
in the French wars. Oddly enough the terrible 
experience of the nineteenth of April was lost 
upon the over-confident British; they supposed 
that the men who had fought so valiantly at 
Concord and Lexington would run like fright¬ 
ened sheep in an encounter in the open. 

Numerous things had occurred to exasperate 
the good people of Boston, but one of the worst 
was a proclamation that Gage issued; it declared 
martial law and referred to all who were bearing 
arms against the King’s men as “ rebels and 
traitors ”; but, said the proclamation, if they 
would lay down their arms all would be pardoned 
—all, that is, except John Hancock and Samuel 
Adams. 

Toward the end of the month British re¬ 
enforcements began to arrive, and on the twenty- 
fifth the troop-ship Cerebus brought three gen¬ 
erals—Howe, Clinton and Burgoyne. 

Don and Jud were in the vicinity of the Green 
Dragon Tavern a few days after the Cerebus 
arrived. They were looking out over the harbor 
when Don heard someone call his name, and, 
turning, he saw one of the sailors who had helped 


120 


A PATRIOT LAD 


him from the water the day he had saved the 
Redcoat from drowning* 

“ Hello, there, young Master Donald,” said the 
fellow—it was Hank. “ There’s the boat out 
there that brought the three big ones—Howe, 
Clinton and Elbow-Room Burgoyne. If they’d 
side-stepped on the gangplank, I don’t doubt 
you’d have jumped in and saved them.” 

Don flushed. “ I’m not so sure—now,” he re¬ 
plied. “ But tell me, why do you call Burgoyne 
4 Elbow-Room ’ ? ” 

“ Why, haven’t you heard that story? ” Hank 
grinned and glanced round to make sure that no 
Redcoat was within hearing. 44 You see, it’s like 
this: As the Cerebus was coming in she met a 
packet bound for Newport. 4 What news is 
there? ’ Burgoyne shouts to the skipper. 4 The 
town is surrounded by ten thousand country 
folk,’ was the reply. At that the general opens 
his eyes wide. 4 How many regulars are in the 
town? ’ he asks. ‘About five thousand,’ the 
skipper shouts in reply. Then the general’s eyes 
open wider than ever, and he cries, 4 What, ten 
thousand peasants keep five thousand King’s 
troops shut up! Well, let us get in, and we’ll 
soon find elbow-room! ’ ” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


121 


Both boys laughed heartily, and Hank added, 
“ Elbow-Room Burgoyne it’ll be to the end of 
his days, now, I suppose.” Hank lowered his 
voice. “ Let me tell you something, my lads,” 
he said. “ There’s going to be a big fight before 
many days have passed. There must be close to 
ten thousand Redcoats in the town now, and, 
mark my words, they’re not going to sit idle, not 
they. You lads keep your eyes fixed on Dor¬ 
chester Heights and Bunker’s Hill.” 

“ How do you know all that? ” asked Jud. 

The sailor solemnly winked his left eye and 
stuck his tongue into his left cheek. “ The sea¬ 
gulls of the air,” he said. “ The sea-gulls of the 
air.” 

Whether or not Hank had secret information 
about the movements and intentions of the British 
troops, it is a fact that on the evening of the 
sixteenth of June, while Don and his aunt were 
sound asleep, events moved swiftly toward a 
climax. The army in Cambridge, determined on 
driving the King’s troops from the town, took 
measures to fortify Bunker Hill, and then almost 
at the last moment changed the plan and forti¬ 
fied a hill that was somewhat nearer the town. 
AIT during the night the Continentals labored at 


122 


A PATRIOT LAD 


throwing up earthworks; and all the while the 
stars looked down peacefully, and the British 
men-of-war floated serenely with the tide, and 
the British patrols cried “All’s well ” at frequent 
intervals. 

At dawn Don and his aunt were wakened by 
the noise of firing; but by the time they were both 
down to breakfast the firing had ceased. 

“Now what in the world could that have 
meant? ” asked Aunt Martha. 

“ I’ll find out,” replied Don and ran into the 
street. 

Near the town hall he inquired of a pedestrian 
what the firing was. 

“ His Majesty’s ship Lively ” replied the fel¬ 
low shortly. He was evidently a Tory. “ She 
fired on some earthworks the rebels have thrown 
up over by Charlestown.” 

Don waited to hear no more. While he and 
his aunt were having breakfast he told her what 
he had heard. Aunt Martha only sighed. 
“ Who knows,” she said after a long pause, “ but 
what your uncle and Glen are over there at 
Charlestown? ” 

During the forenoon the firing resumed. The 
British, it seems, had brought three or four float- 


OF OLD BOSTON 


123 


ing batteries to bear upon the fortifications; but 
in spite of the heavy bombardment the Continen¬ 
tals continued to work. 

The day promised to be hot and sultry. The 
sun, a bright ball of molten gold, was blazing 
down on the shingled roofs of the town and was 
sending up heat waves from the cobblestoned 
streets. Don left off his top coat and turned in 
the collar of his shirt. 

“ You don’t look neat and trim, Donald 
Alden,” said his aunt as he was about to leave 
the house. 

“ It’s too hot, Aunt Martha.” 

“ You think so perhaps. Well, don’t go far.” 

“ I’m going to find Jud,” replied Don. 

He did not have to go all the way to Hog Al¬ 
ley to find his comrade. Jud, hot and excited, 
almost ran into him at the foot of School Street. 
“ O Don! ” he exclaimed. “ There’s going to be 
an awful time—a battle, sure as you’re alive! I 
was coming to get you.” 

“ I know,” said Don. “ Everybody’s excited. 
And did you hear the firing early this morning? ” 

“ Come up to the Common,” said Jud. “ The 
Redcoats are all on parade. They’re going to 
march off, I think.” 


124 


A PATRIOT LAD 


The boys found the Common a scene of intense 
activity. There seemed to be Redcoats every¬ 
where. Some were in formation; some were 
hurrying to join their companies that were assem¬ 
bling, and all seemed to be carrying arms and full 
equipment. The sun flashed on glistening 
swords and buckles and seemed to turn each 
bright red coat into a vivid blaze of fire. And 
overhead the graceful limbs of the great old elms 
waved gently to and fro like gigantic lacy green 
fans. 

“ Look,” said Don, “ there’s the 43rd, Harry 
Hawkins’s regiment.” 

“ Yes, and there’s Hawkins himself,” replied 
Jud. “ See him—that big fellow? ” 

Don bit his lips and said nothing. He did not 
dare put into words the thoughts that had 
come crowding into his mind at sight of the 
only Redcoat for whom he had the least affec¬ 
tion. 

“ There’s the grenadiers,” said Jud; “ and the 
new regiment, the 35th and the 49th.” 

“ Yes, and there are the marines,” added Don. 
“ They all look pretty fine, don’t they? ” 

“ They look fine enough now,” replied Jud, 
“ but just you wait till our men get a shot at 


OF OLD BOSTON 12 5 

them. You know how it was at Lexington and 
Concord.” 

Don knew indeed, and the thought of that 
memorable day cheered him considerably. 

By now most of the troops had assembled, and 
one regiment already was marching off. The 
boys hastened to follow along Common Street. 

46 My, but it’s hot! Whew! ” cried Jud. 44 I’m 
most melted.” 

44 1 am too,” Don grinned. 44 I’m glad I don’t 
have to carry a pack and a musket. Just listen 
to the firing now! ” 

Although the sun was high overhead, neither 
boy thought of being hungry. Down Queen 
Street they hurried and past the town hall into 
King Street. People were standing on street 
corners and watching from doors and windows 
as the King’s troops swung past over the rough 
street. Small boys, shouting loudly to one an¬ 
other, were hurrying along beside the splendid, 
well-disciplined columns; and dogs of all sizes 
were running here and there, barking shrilly. 
One little fellow, all black with white spots, ran 
diagonally through the column and then, turning 
swiftly, ran back again as if for the sole purpose 
of showing that he could do it. 


126 


A PATRIOT LAB 


The boys saw the regiment march out upon 
Long Wharf, where boats were waiting to carry 
them north toward Charlestown. Then they saw 
another and another regiment swing down King 
Street and move out upon the wharf. 

“Are they all going to embark here? ” asked 
Jud. 

“ No,” replied a man who was standing near 
by. “ Some of ’em are on the way to North 
Battery.” 

“ Come on up there then,” said Don. 

When the boys reached the battery most of the 
British who were embarking at that point were 
already in the boats. 

By now some of the people in the North End 
had climbed to the roofs of their houses, from 
which points they would have an unobstructed 
view of Charlestown across the water and of the 
men-of-war. As the boys were coming from the 
North Battery, Jud shouted to a man who was 
perched astride his gabled roof: “ Hey, there, is 
there room for two more? ” 

“ Come right along if you’re not Tories,” re¬ 
plied the man. “ I reckon it wouldn’t be safe for 
a Tory up here beside me to-day.” 

Jud, impetuous by nature, ran to the ladder 


OF OLD BOSTON 


127 


that was leaning against the house, and Don, 
naturally cautious but in the excitement forgetful 
of everything, followed him. In a minute the 
boys were beside the man—John Short, a saddle- 
maker—and were looking eagerly across the 
water. 


CHAPTER X 


FROM A HOUSETOP 

The two boys and their patriotic friend, the 
saddle-maker, saw the barges loaded with red-clad 
soldiers steering for the point northeast of 
Charlestown and later saw the barges return for 
more troops. Close in toward the Charlestown 
shore they could see the men-of-war Falcon, 
Lively, Somerset and Symmetry, and all were fir¬ 
ing at the little redoubt on the hill beyond the 
town. 

“ Who’s that walking along the top of the fort 
there? ” Don asked suddenly. 

“ Whoever he is, he’d better keep down,” said 
Jud. 

“ I can’t be sure at this distance,” replied the 
saddle-maker, “ but from the size and appearance 
of him I’d say he was Colonel Prescott.” 

Afterward the boys learned that the man was 
Colonel Prescott and that his apparent disregard 
for the fire of the British was for the purpose of 
heartening the men within the fort. 

128 


OF OLD BOSTON 


129 


About mid-afternoon all the fire from the men- 
of-war and the British batteries seemed to con¬ 
centrate on the little fort. 

“ There they go! ” cried Short. “ The attack’s 
begun.” 

The regulars were advancing in two divisions; 
one division moved straight up the hill toward the 
fort; the other moved toward the fortifications 
beyond the hill—which could not be seen from 
the roof. Burdened with heavy equipment, and 
with the hot sun blazing down on their heads, the 
British walked slowly over the uneven ground. 
When they had gone some distance they opened 
fire and continued to fire as they advanced. A 
few scattering shots from the hill answered 
them. 

“ Our men are withholding their fire till it’ll 
count,” said Short. “A wise thing to do.” 

“ Well, I wish they’d hurry and fire,” said Jud. 
“Just see how close the Redcoats are to the fort! ” 

The stretch of green and brown field between 
the redoubt and the front line of advancing reg¬ 
ulars was growing smaller and smaller. From 
beyond the hill came a rattling roar of muskets 
and of field-pieces. Then came a heavy volley 
from the fort. 


130 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“Look! Look!” cried Short and in his ex¬ 
citement almost let go his hold. 

The regulars returned the fire, and then amid 
the rattling, crackling hail of musket balls the 
ranks wavered and then broke. Down the hill 
haphazard the trained troops of King George 
retreated; but they left many of their number 
behind on the slope. 

Meanwhile shells that had fallen inside Charles¬ 
town had set many of the wooden buildings on 
fire, and the flames were spreading with great 
rapidity. Blue smoke was curling upward from 
the spires of the public buildings to mingle with 
the deeper blue of the sky. Little tongues of 
yellow flame were licking the sides and roofs of 
many of the smaller houses. In a few minutes 
the crash of falling beams mingled with the roar 
and rattle of cannon and musket. 

The regulars rallied and advanced again, but 
they could not go far in the face of the terrible 
fire that poured down upon them. As at Lex¬ 
ington, Don could see red-coated officers urging 
and threatening their men with brightly gleam¬ 
ing swords, but it was of no use. Again the lines 
broke, and the King’s troops retreated, this time 
in greater disorder than the first. 


OF OLD BOSTON 131 

“ They’re brave men; I’ll say that for them,” 
said Short. 

Don and Jud thought so too, but neither said 
a word; the terrible spectacle seemed to have 
taken away their power to speak. 

It was a long time before the Redcoats rallied 
and advanced for the third time. 

“ They’ve left off their knapsacks this trip,” 
said Short. “ They’ll do better, I’m think¬ 
ing.” 

It was only too true, for the gallant Americans 
had used most of their ammunition. They met the 
attack bravely, and then the tire from the fort 
suddenly slackened. In a few minutes the reg¬ 
ulars were at the walls. Then a great cloud of 
dust rose above the works as the defenders re¬ 
luctantly gave way. The British, who were on 
three sides of the redoubt, rushed forward and, 
swarming over the walls, sent up a great cheer, 
which came faintly across the water. Then they 
opened fire on the retreating Continentals. 

The boys could see little groups of soldiers be¬ 
yond on the slopes of Bunker Hill, but by now 
the dust was so thick that they could hardly dis¬ 
tinguish which side the men belonged to. Inter¬ 
mittent firing continued for some time, and the 


132 A PATRIOT LAD 

warm air was saturated with the pungent odor of 
powder. 

“Victory for the Redcoats,” said Jud in a 
choking voice, and Don nodded in agreement. 
There was such a lump in his throat that he would 
not trust himself to speak. 

“ Well, maybe,” said Short, “ but I’m a-think- 
ing it’s a pretty costly victory for old King 
George.” 

And so it proved to be. The town of Boston 
wore a gloomy aspect during the next few days. 
The King’s troops, who had looked so fine on 
parade on the morning of the battle, went about 
dispiritedly and muttered among themselves at 
the awful price that they had paid for the hill. 

When Don reached home late that evening the 
sound of cannon was still ringing in his ears—in¬ 
deed the guns did not cease firing until the next 
afternoon. He told his aunt what he had seen, 
but omitted a good deal out of sympathy for her 
feelings. But though Aunt Martha had not seen 
so much as her nephew she seemed to know quite 
as much about what had happened as he did; and 
all her anxiety, all her thoughts were for her hus¬ 
band and for Glen Drake. 

Almost all of the next day, which was Sunday, 


OF OLD BOSTON 


183 


she spent in reading the Bible; nor would she 
permit her nephew to stir from the house. “ I 
want you with me, Donald,” she said. “ Some¬ 
thing tells me that your uncle was in the battle, 
and something tells me that everything did not 
go just right.” 

“ But, Aunt Martha, you can’t be sure,” said 
Don. “ I’m just going to suppose that he was 
there and didn’t get a scratch.” 

Although Aunt Martha did not reply her eyes 
said plainly that she wished she could think as her 
nephew did. 

To relieve the depressed and disgruntled Red¬ 
coats the Tories took upon themselves the work 
of patrolling the streets at night. Every evening 
forty-nine of them went on duty, and once Don 
saw Tom Bullard, dressed in a green uniform, 
hurrying importantly along Cornhill apparently 
with a message from his chief, General Ruggles. 
That was the same evening after General Gage 
had issued another proclamation calling upon the 
townspeople again to turn over to him any fire¬ 
arms that they still possessed. 

“Aunt Martha,” said Don, “ you know there’s 
some powder among that stuff in the cellar. Do 
you suppose we’d better turn that in? ” 


134 


A PATRIOT LAB 


“ No,” replied his aunt firmly. “ Only to have 
the Redcoats use it against our own men! Never! 
If the cellar were full of swords and muskets, I’d 
not say a word about them to anyone who wears 
a red coat. Maybe some day that powder will 
be useful in the hands of those who really deserve 
it.” 

It was now nearing the end of June, but not 
a word, not the slightest hint concerning the fate 
of either David Hollis or Glen Drake had 
reached Aunt Martha’s ears. Together Don and 
his aunt had visited the hospitals where both 
Americans and British wounded soldiers were 
being cared for; yet not a thing could they find 
out. Instead of feeling encouraged, however, 
Aunt Martha became more and more worried, 
and oddly enough Don soon began to feel much 
as she did. 

One bit of information of quite a different sort 
did, however, seep into the beleagured town. 
Rumor had it that a valiant soldier from Vir¬ 
ginia—Col. George Washington—was coming to 
Cambridge to take command of the entire Con¬ 
tinental army. Don heard the news from Jud, 
who in turn had heard it from a storekeeper in 
Orange Street. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


135 


“ Col. George Washington—why, he was with 
Braddock and saved what remained of the British 
army after the French and Indians had ambushed 
them.” Don’s eyes were wide with admiration. 
“When’s he coming, Jud? Say, he’s a great 
man! ” 

“ He’s one of the finest soldiers there ever was,” 
said Jud. 44 He’ll make things hum when he 
arrives. Give him an army and he won’t be long 
in driving the Redcoats into the sea! ” 

44 When’s he coming? ” Don asked again. 

44 Oh, in a few days, so they say. I heard that 
he’s already on his way and that Congress had 
made him commander-in-chief just a day or so 
before the fight over Charlestown way.” 

44 I’d surely like to see him,” said Don. 44 Glen 
Drake knows him and has fought beside him. 
He says he’s the finest looking man he ever 
saw.” 

44 Have you heard anything of Glen or your 
uncle? ” 

Don immediately became grave. 44 Not a word, 
Jud,” he replied. 

The first two weeks in July came and passed, 
and it was known definitely that General Wash¬ 
ington had reached Cambridge and had taken 


136 A PATRIOT LAB 

command of the army beneath a large spreading 
elm tree. 

Still no word came concerning David Hollis. 
Aunt Martha went mechanically about her house¬ 
work and had got into the habit of reading much 
and of talking little. Other people who had rela¬ 
tives in the Continental army had managed to get 
word of them—somehow; but David Hollis and 
his friend, the trapper,—it seemed at times almost 
as if they never had existed. 

The friendship between David and Jud seemed 
to grow stronger each day, and the boys spent 
most of their time together. One evening, Jud, 
in response to an invitation from Aunt Martha, 
came to spend the afternoon and night at the 
house in Pudding Lane. The boys had intended 
to go fishing that afternoon, but unfortunately 
rain began to fall around noon and increased to a 
steady, violent downpour as the afternoon wore 
on. 

By five o’clock it was so dark that Aunt Mar¬ 
tha had to light a candle in order to see to read. 
Rain was still falling, and with it came a heavy 
fog that swept like smoke through the narrow 
streets. 

“ It’s good we didn’t go fishing,” said Jud. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


137 


<c This is a regular northeast storm. Probably it 
will last for two or three days.” 

“ Yes, and it’s growing cold,” said Aunt 
Martha. “ Donald, I think we’d better have a 
fire.” 

Between the two of them the boys soon had a 
cheerful, crackling fire on the hearth; and by the 
light of it Aunt Martha became more like her old 
self. During supper she laughed frequently with 
the boys, especially when Jud told of his many 
pets. And afterward she played fox and geese 
with them. “ I declare, Jud,” she said, “ I’m 
glad you came.” 

The evening passed swiftly and pleasantly, 
though outside the wind was howling and sending 
the heavy drops of rain spattering against the 
windows. 

Don and Jud had finished their last game, and 
Aunt Martha was looking at them inquiringly, 
when suddenly the knocker on the door rose and 
fell. 

“ Oh! ” cried Aunt Martha, startled. 

“ Now who can that be? ” said Don and went 
to the door. 

He opened it a crack and then stepped back¬ 
ward in astonishment as a man pushed his 


138 A PATRIOT LAB 

way inside and hastily closed the door behind 
him. 

“ Glen—Glen! ” cried Aunt Martha and fairly 
flew to meet the visitor. 

Don was too much surprised to speak. He 
only looked on dumbly as the old trapper caught 
his aunt’s hands and drew her swiftly into the 
shadows away from the window. 

“ Glen,” said Aunt Martha, 44 only one thing 
could bring you here—David-” 

44 Is well,” replied the trapper and sat down 
in one of the chairs. 44 He’s been sick, Martha— 
he was wounded at Bunker’s Hill—but he’s doing 
well. There’s no cause for worry.” 

Aunt Martha drew a deep breath and sank into 
a chair beside him. 

44 Don, my boy, how are you?” asked Glen. 
44 1 see you’re taking good care of your aunt. 

And this-” He glanced at Jud searchingly 

for a moment. 

44 This is Jud Appleton,” said Aunt Martha. 
44 Don’s close companion and as loyal as any of 
us.” 

Jud winced under the trapper’s grip and from 
that moment would have followed his lead any¬ 
where. 




OF OLD BOSTON 


139 


“ I told you he’d come if he wanted to,” 
whispered Don. 

Though Glen was naturally a man of few 
words he did most of the talking during the two 
hours that he remained at the house in Pudding 
Lane. He had crossed from Cambridge under 
cover of rain and darkness and would return the 
same way. David Hollis, he said, had received a 
ball through the shoulder during the third assault 
of the Redcoats on the hill and was now at Cam¬ 
bridge, where he would probably remain until he 
was fully recovered; then he would rejoin his 
company. 

Glen had had two reasons for coming, it 
seemed; one was to acquaint Aunt Martha with 
the exact condition of her husband; the other was 
to bring money, which both he and David Hollis 
feared she was sorely in need of. 

For perhaps half an hour he and Aunt Martha 
talked in low whispers. Then he raised his voice 
and spoke of events that had happened concern¬ 
ing the Continental army, and both boys bent 
forward eagerly to listen. 

44 You boys just ought to see Cambridge,” he 
said. 44 Soldiers everywhere—fine-looking fel¬ 
lows from up north, dark, handsome boys from 


140 


A PATRIOT LAD 

the South. I tell you it’s a sight to see them on 
parade. And tents—hundreds of ’em of all 
sorts. Those of the Rhode Islanders are all 
canvas, but the others—why, they’re part sail¬ 
cloth and part wood, and some are mostly mud 
and branches. And fortifications all over; Bos¬ 
ton Neck and Charlestown Neck are sealed tight, 
you might say.” 

Glen paused and filled his pipe. “ It’s a funny 
thing,” he continued; “not many years ago the 
settlers faced their fortifications the opposite way 
to protect their homes against the Injuns; now 
it’s an enemy from the east they’ve got to protect 
themselves against.” 

“And have you seen Colonel Washington? ” 
asked Jud. 

“Seen him! I should say so!” The old 
trapper’s face lighted up, and his eyes gleamed 
in the shadows. “ There’s not a better officer alive. 
He’s what you call an officer and a gentleman, 
and he looks the part every inch when he’s on his 
big horse. He wears a blue uniform faced with 
buff and a black cockade in his hat—but you 
ought to see him. I’m no hand at describing.” 

Glen had another talk alone with Aunt Martha 
before he finally shook everyone by the hand. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


141 


bade them keep up their spirits and then, muffling 
his face with the collar of 1»s coat, slipped noise¬ 
lessly out into the night. 

“ Now, you boys, to bed with you,” said Aunt 
Martha. 4 ‘And don’t lie awake, talking.” 

But her good advice was given in vain; the boys 
lay awake until long into the night, talking of 
the wily old trapper who somehow had entered 
the town right under the Redcoats’ nose without 
their knowing it. 

“ I told you he’d come if he wanted to,” Don 
repeated exultantly. 

“ Yes, and he’ll get back easily too,” said Jud. 
“ I’d pity any Redcoat who tried to stop him.” 

44 So would I,” said Don, thinking of how Glen 
had acted on the evening when they had crossed 
the flats together and had met the British sentry. 

“Are you boys asleep?” came the voice of 
Aunt Martha. 

Only the echoes answered her question. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE LIBERTY TREE 

By the end of July both the people of Boston 
and the King’s soldiers were beginning to feel the 
ill effects of the siege. One of the main troubles 
was the food. Civilian and soldier alike were 
obliged to eat much salt fish and meat—so much 
in fact that sickness and fever broke out, espe¬ 
cially in the army. Don and his aunt were 
rather better off than most folks, for at the begin¬ 
ning of the trouble the store had been well 
stocked, and, moreover, Aunt Martha now had 
money with which to buy fresh eggs and vege¬ 
tables. 

With the increasing discontent owing to im¬ 
proper food individual Redcoats became more 
arrogant toward the townsfolk, whom they far 
outnumbered. There were fewer than seven 
thousand inhabitants; whereas, the troops and 
their dependents numbered close to fourteen 
thousand. 

“ Oh, dear,” said Aunt Martha, “ how is it ever 
142 


OF OLD BOSTON 


143 


going to end? How much longer are we to live 
this way, insulted and persecuted on every 
hand? ” 

“ It seems that every time they have a skirmish 
with Washington’s men,” said Don, “ they take 
their spite out on us. Well, just you wait, Aunt 
Martha; General Washington will show them he 
means business. He can’t do it now because his 
army isn’t ready; he has to train his men. And 
besides, he needs more powder and cannon 
and-” 

“ Why, Donald, where do you learn all these 
things? ” 

“ Oh, Jud and I hear folks talking. Some¬ 
times we hear when we’re pretending not to. 
Jud says that’s the thing to do.” 

Aunt Martha smiled and shook her head. 

“We were down on Essex Street yesterday 
near the Liberty Tree,” Don continued, “ and 
heard some Tories and Redcoats talking. One 
of the Tories said, 4 These stubborn rebels ’— 
meaning us, Aunt Martha,— 4 think they’ll do 
wonders now that they’ve appointed a Virginian 
head of their upstart army; but they’re wrong; if 
great Csesar himself were head of that army he 
couldn’t make ’em stand up and fight! ’ 



144 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ Then one of the soldiers—I thought at first 
it was Harry Hawkins, but it wasn’t—faced 
around quick and said, 4 Were you at Lexin’ton 
or Bunker’s Hill? ’ 

“ 4 No,’ the Tory replied. 

“ 4 Well, then,’ said the Redcoat, 4 what do you 
know about it? I was at Lexin’ton, and I was 
over at Charlestown last June, and I know they 
can fight. I hate ’em just as much as you do, 
my friend,’ he said, 4 but I respect them too. 
They can fight. If they’d had lots of powder, 
we’d never have taken that hill. And another 
thing, I know this man Washington. I should say 
I do! I was with Braddock. And when Wash¬ 
ington gets his army trained and has plenty of 
ammunition I tell you we’re a-going to have a 
fight on our hands, and don’t you forget it! ’ ” 

44 What did the Tory say? ” asked Aunt Mar¬ 
tha. 

44 He didn’t say anything. He just shrugged 
his shoulders and turned away. That’s how a 
Tory is, Aunt Martha; he’ll talk a lot and let 
the Redcoats do the fighting.’” 

Certainly the Tories had much to talk about. 
It must have given them much satisfaction to see 
their neighbors imprisoned on false charges. Mr. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


145 


Lovell, the schoolmaster, charged with being a 
spy, was confined for sixty-five days. John Gill, 
a close friend of Don’s uncle, was imprisoned for 
twenty-nine days for printing what had dis¬ 
pleased General Gage. 

But even numerous vexations and wrongs of 
that sort were not enough to satisfy the Tories. 
They themselves were suffering from the siege, 
and they wanted to punish the whole people of 
Boston, who they said were the cause of their 
suffering. Just what a malicious form of pun¬ 
ishment they chose Don and Jud were soon to 
learn. 

Early one morning the two boys were on their 
way to Coffin’s Field to get bait for fishing. Each 
was lightly dressed, and both were hurrying along 
briskly. The sun was pushing its way up warm 
and bright and seemed to promise a good day. 
They had come down Newbury Street and were 
turning into Essex when Jud pointed to the 
Liberty Tree, a great elm that stood on the south¬ 
east corner. “ That’s what I call the finest tree 
that ever grew,” he said. 

“ It surely is pretty,” replied Don; “ just look 
how dainty and green the leaves are, and how the 
limbs curve way up and hang over like long ferns. 


146 A PATRIOT LAD 

Yes, I’d say an elm is about the finest tree that 
ever grew.” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of the appearance of it so 
much,” Jud replied, “ though it surely is a 
beauty. I was thinking rather of what it means. 
It stands for Liberty. Don’t you remember 
how, whenever there used to be trouble with King 
George, folks would flock to the tree? ” 

“ They do still, for that matter.” 

“ Well, yes, but I was thinking of one night 
when I was just a little fellow. I don’t remem¬ 
ber just what had happened—the repeal of a 
stamp law maybe—anyway Ma took me to the 
tree, and there it was covered with lanterns and 
a big flag flying from the pole in the centre up 
there, and everybody was laughing and singing 
and ringing bells. Oh, it surely was fine! ” 

Still talking about the tree, the boys went on 
down Essex Street and a few minutes later were 
at Coffin’s Field. Jud led the way to a far cor¬ 
ner of it, where they began to dig. 

For almost three-quarters of an Hour they 
worked, turning over great clods of earth; but 
grub worms, which they particularly wanted, 
were scarce. 

“ How many have we got? ” asked Don. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


147 


Jud counted them. “ Only fourteen,” he re¬ 
plied. “ Let’s try over there behind that pig¬ 
pen.” 

The ground behind the pig-pen proved some¬ 
what better, and at last, with a fair supply of 
worms, the boys started back along Essex Street. 

They were perhaps half-way to Newbury 
Street when they heard loud talking and boister¬ 
ous laughter. A minute later they saw a crowd 
—mostly soldiers and Tories—at the corner. 

Suddenly the two boys stopped short. Don 
grasped Jud’s arm and in a choking voice cried, 
“ See what they’ve done! ” 

Jud was speechless; his lips moved, but he 
made no sound. There in front of them, the 
centre of a boorish mob, lay the Liberty Tree! 
It had been cut down near the base. The deli¬ 
cate leaves and slender twigs were being trampled 
underfoot as Tories and Redcoats moved here 
and there, laughing, shouting and swearing. 
Great limbs that once had swayed so gracefully 
in the breeze were scattered about along the 
street; deep wdiite gashes showed where the cruel 
axe had bitten into them. And the odor of green 
wood filled the moist warm air. 

“ J-Jud! ” cried Don. 


148 


A PATRIOT LAD 


But Jud did not utter a word. His ruddy 
face was pale, and his cheeks seemed suddenly 
hollow. 

“ Well, what do you think of your fine tree 
now? ” said a mocking voice. 

Both boys turned and confronted—Tom Bul¬ 
lard. 

“You dirty, sneaking chicken-thief! ” cried 
Jud and would have hurled himself against the 
Tory if Don had not held him. 

“ Now, none of that,” said Tom and retreated 
a step or two. Then he turned and walked away, 
whistling. 

“ See here,” said a bystander, “ I guess you 
boys feel as bad as I do about it, but don’t be 
hotheads. They’re too many for us.” 

“ How did it happen? ” asked Don unsteadily. 

“ Job Williams, the Tory, led the mob,” re¬ 
plied the man. “And a mob it surely was. Such 
a lot of swearing and yelling—it’s good you 
missed it. Redcoats and Tories alike swarmed 
up the tree like so many thick-lipped gorillas. 
But it wasn’t all fine for them. Just before you 
came one of the soldiers in the topmost branches 
missed his hold and fell. I saw him fall; he was 
killed!” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


149 


“ Good! ” cried Jud, clenching his fists. 

“ That’s just what I said.” The man smiled. 
“ They carted him off a few minutes ago. It was 
the hand of Providence that did it, my lads, and 
the hand of Providence will account for many 
more of them before long.” 

“ Let’s get out of here,” said Don. “ It 
makes me sick to look. Just hear ’em yelling.” 

Each boy picked up a twig from the street, 
and, thrusting it into his pocket, hurried up New¬ 
bury Street toward Hog Alley. 

There was no fishing for Don or for Jud that 
day. What they had seen in the morning had 
taken away all their desire for sport. And Aunt 
Martha felt quite as bad about the destruction of 
the tree as the boys did. “ If there’s one thing I 
can’t abide,” she said, “ it’s spite work.” 

The Liberty Tree yielded the soldiers fourteen 
cords of wood, but they had paid dearly for it. 
Other trees also were cut down for the sake of 
the wood, and before winter set in the Common 
had lost many of its fine old elms. 

September passed, and with the turning of the 
leaves Don longed to go forth into the woods. 
“ Say, Aunt Martha,” he remarked one day, “ I 
never knew that the town was so small. There’s 


150 


A PATRIOT LAD 


no place to go without seeing Redcoats. I’d like 
to go off somewhere in the woods.” 

“ Have patience, Donald. Maybe if you wait, 
some day the whole continent will be free for you 
to come and go in as you please.” 

“ Do you think the Colonies will be independ¬ 
ent, Aunt Martha? Do you really want them 
to be? ” 

“ Yes. I think it, and I hope it.” Aunt 
Martha’s lips were set in a straight line, as they 
had been when she had told her husband that she 
would not leave her home for the sake of a Red¬ 
coat. 

Don was about to make some reply when he 
spied Jud outside the window; he was hurrying 
up the street, and there was an eager look in his 
eyes. 

“ Hello, Jud,” Don greeted him as he opened 
the door. “ What’s the news? ” 

“ Good news,” Jud replied breathlessly. “ I’ve 
heard that old Gage is going back to England. 
How glad I am! ” 

“Say, where did you hear that?” asked 
Don. 

“ Over near Faneuil Hall. I was listening 
again.” Jud grinned. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


151 


“ Who’s to take his place? ” asked Aunt 
Martha. 

“ Don’t know yet. But won’t it be fine to see 
old Gage go? He’s caused enough trouble for 
half a dozen men.” 

The news proved to be true enough. On the 
tenth of October, General Gage sailed for Eng¬ 
land, never to return. Lord Howe, who had 
commanded the British in the assault at Charles¬ 
town, took Gage’s place. He was popular with 
the troops, but with the suffering townsfolk he 
was a poor substitute for the unpopular Gage. 
The proclamations that he issued were irritating 
at best; he seemed to think only of the safety 
and comfort of his soldiers. 

One of his first acts was to erect new fortifica¬ 
tions. Then he requisitioned private dwellings 
and some of the meeting-houses for the use of 
his men. 


CHAPTER XII 


A BLUSTERING SERGEANT-MAJOR 

“ Donald, someone’s at the door. Hurry and 
answer it.” Aunt Martha’s voice sounded from 
her nephew’s room up-stairs, which she was 
sweeping. 

Knock, knock— knock! 

“ He’s pretty anxious to make us hear,” said 
Don as he crossed the floor of the living-room. 

Knock! 

Don opened the door and looked full into the 
face of a red-haired, red-coated British sergeant- 
major, who at once inserted his foot and pushed 
his way inside the room. “ Who lives here be¬ 
sides yourself, young sire? ” he demanded. 

Don stared at him and thought he had never 
seen such an ugly-looking fellow. He was big 
and broad and flabby, and the only thing about 
him that was not red, it seemed, were his eyes, 
which were a pale, washed-out blue. 

“ Don’t stand there and stare! ” the sergeant- 
major bellowed. “ Tell me who lives here.” 

152 


OF OLD BOSTON 


153 


“ My Aunt Martha Hollis and I and my uncle 
David, who’s with the Continental army just at 
present,” replied Don. 

The soldier snorted and then hurried to face 
Aunt Martha, who had come down-stairs. “ Is 
that right? ” he asked in a surly but milder voice. 

“ My nephew has told you the truth,” Aunt 
Martha replied with dignity. 

“ How many rooms are in the house? ” 

“ The living-room and three rooms up-stairs.” 

The sergeant-major produced a piece of paper. 
“ Show me to the rooms up-stairs,” he said and 
walked toward the stairway. 

“ Why do you wish to see them? ” asked Aunt 
Martha, somewhat alarmed and bewildered. 

The soldier made no reply but mounted the 
steps. Don followed him closely. After a brief 
inspection of the rooms they came down, and the 
soldier wrote something on the slip of paper. 
“ You’ll have two men to billet,” he said. “ So 
you’d better fix up that big room at the front.” 

“ I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Aunt Martha 
said indignantly. 

The man’s red face became redder than ever; 
he started to say something, then checked himself 
and laughed. “ Two men,” he repeated and 


154 A PATRIOT LAB 

strode toward the door and slammed it behind 
him. 

“ O Donald! ” cried Aunt Martha. “ If your 
uncle were only here! ” 

Don clenched his fists. “ Two Redcoats to live 
with us all winter!” he exclaimed. “That’s 
what it means, Aunt Martha.” 

“ Oh, dear,” said his aunt and sat down by the 
window. “ Two—two Redcoats to track in 
mud and dirt and scratch and tear things with 
their heavy shoes-” 

“ Now, don’t worry. Aunt Martha,” Don in¬ 
terrupted her. “ Maybe it won’t be so bad, hav¬ 
ing them here. And maybe before long General 
Washington will have his army ready to drive all 
of them out of the town.” 

Aunt Martha soon recovered her spirits and 
set about making ready for the two unwelcome 
guests. “ I suppose if they insist on having the 
big front room, we’ll have to give it to them,” 
she said. “ I don’t see any other way out of 
it.” 

Nevertheless, she spent most of the day in 
cleaning the spare bedroom, and when Don 
looked at it that afternoon he could not help 
smiling. “ You’ve made it the best-looking room 




“Who Lives Here Beside Yourself, Young Sire?” 













OF OLD BOSTON 


1 55 


in the house,” he said. “ Maybe they’ll prefer it 
to the big room.” 

“ That’s just what I had in mind,” his aunt 
replied and smiled. 

“ Oh, say! ” exclaimed Don, and his face sud¬ 
denly became pale. “All that stuff in the cel¬ 
lar—what if they should discover it! ” 

Aunt Martha shared her nephew’s agitation, 
and she bit her lips in perplexity. “ I haven’t 
thought of that,” she said. “ We’ll just have to 
run our chances and see that the door is kept 
locked always.” 

“ We’d surely find ourselves in hot water if 
they happened to learn that it’s there,” said Don. 
“ Oh, how I hate ’em all! ” he cried impulsively. 

The next morning when the two soldiers came 
with all their equipment Don and his aunt got a 
surprise that for Don at least was not altogether 
unpleasant. One of the Redcoats was Private 
Harry Hawkins! 

He nodded and smiled at Don as he and his 
comrade entered the house and were shown up¬ 
stairs. 

The man who was with him, a short, dark¬ 
haired fellow, stopped at the door of Aunt Mar¬ 
tha’s room. “ This is it, Hawkins,” he said. 


156 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ The big room on the front, the sergeant-major 
said, and a fine room it is. We’re in luck, you 
and I.” 

Hawkins looked at Aunt Martha and, observ¬ 
ing the troubled expression in her eyes, said, “ Is 
this the room you want us to occupy? ” 

“ No, it isn’t,” she replied. “ That’s my room, 
and the one across the hall is my nephew’s. Next 
to his is the room I’d hoped you would occupy— 
since it seems you’ve got to occupy a room of 
some sort.” 

“ That’s the room we’ll have, then,” said Haw¬ 
kins promptly and carried his equipment into it. 

But his companion did not follow him; he stood 
looking into the big room. 

“ Come on, Snell,” said Hawkins, laughing. 
“ The other room is plenty big enough. Anyone 
would think you were six feet, five, instead of five 
feet, six.” 

Grumbling, the fellow turned away reluctantly 
and entered the room that Aunt Martha had 
made ready for them. 

Both Don and his aunt gave Hawkins a look 
of thanks and then went down-stairs. For some 
time they sat in silence and listened to the scuffling 
of feet on the floor above them. Then Don said 


OF OLD BOSTON 


157 


in a low voice: “ It might have been worse, 
mightn’t it? ” 

His aunt nodded. “ I suppose it might,” she 
admitted. “ One of them seems a gentlemanly 
fellow.” 

Fortunately, Hawkins and Snell were in the 
house very little during the daytime. They 
would rise early and hurry off to eat mess with 
their company; then they might return for a few 
minutes only to hurry out to the parade grounds. 
Usually they were away somewhere during the 
afternoon and evening. On the whole they were 
not much bother; it was the mere fact that Aunt 
Martha had to have them that irritated her 
most. 

Jud’s mother also had suffered. Jud told Don 
about it one evening at Aunt Martha’s. “ We’ve 
got only one,” he said, “ but he’s a sergeant- 
major—big and fat and red-faced and uglier than 
a mud fence! ” 

“ With blue eyes and a red nose? ” asked Don. 

“ Yes, little mean eyes that somehow make me 
think of buttermilk.” 

“ Probably it’s the sergeant-major who came 
to us,” said Don. 

“ Probably it is,” added his aunt dryly. “ I 


158 A PATRIOT LAD 

don’t see how there could be two men quite so 
ugly as he.” 

“ Well, he’s a billeting sergeant,” said Jud, 
“ and his name is Bluster.” 

“ Huh,” said Don. “ He’s well named.” 

“ Just listen to that wind outside,” said Aunt 
Martha; “ that’s blustery enough too! ” 

The wind had been blustery and sharp for sev¬ 
eral days, and almost before the boys realized it 
winter had set in in dead earnest. And with the 
cold came increased suffering. Fuel was scarce, 
and the army had hard work getting it. But they 
did get it, nevertheless, and the way they went 
about it added another grievance to the long list 
that the townsfolk held against them. Buildings 
were torn down—usually they were the poorest 
structures, but not always—fences disappeared 
overnight, and gates that had creaked on their 
hinges one day were missing the next morning. 

In December the town presented its most de¬ 
plorable aspect. Hostile cannon glowered in 
position on hill and thoroughfare, and insolent 
soldiers such as Sergeant-Major Bluster and 
Private Snell sat about hearthstones where once 
happy families had been wont to gather. Food 
as well as fuel was extremely scarce, and prices 


OF OLD BOSTON 


159 


were so high that more than one person was 
driven to steal. Faneuil Hall had been turned 
into a playhouse for the amusement of the Red¬ 
coats, and in it the fine spirit of the people, their 
intense desire for peace and liberty and fair treat¬ 
ment, were turned into ridicule. Even when 
snow fell and covered the suffering town in a soft 
white blanket, and few soldiers were on the streets 
to jostle and mock pedestrians, the guns on Bea¬ 
con Hill boomed forth as if to remind them that 
Howe and the King’s troops still held sway. 

Hundreds of persons, too poor longer to sup¬ 
port themselves, had obtained Howe’s permission 
to depart in boats to Point Shirley, whence they 
made their way into the country—homeless, 
penniless and miserable. But still Aunt Martha’s 
will would not allow her to yield. “ No—no,” 
she declared more than once, “ I’ll not go! The 
good Lord knows how I long to be with David, 
but I know that he is being well cared for. Glen 
gave me his word, and he is a man I’d trust to 
the ends of the earth.” 

Mrs. Lancaster, who happened to be calling, 
only shook her head. 

“ Yes, I know you think I’m stubborn,” Don’s 
aunt continued. “ Perhaps I am, but I intend 


160 


A PATRIOT LAD 


to remain right here in my own home, and that’s 
an end of it.” 

One day in January, Don and Jud went to 
Aunt Martha with a request that Don be per¬ 
mitted, as Jud said, to “ go some place ” the fol¬ 
lowing evening. 

“ Where do you want to go, Don? ” she asked. 

“ Down to Faneuil Hall,” Don said quickly. 
“ There’s something or other going on there, and 
we’d like to see it.” 

“ There’ll be music,” added Jud. 

“ British music,” said Aunt Martha. 

“ Well, yes, but it may sound all right.” 

Aunt Martha frowned. 

“ Oh, say, Aunt Martha,” exclaimed Don, 
laughing, “ we won’t become Tories—honest. It’s 
mighty dull here these days, and we want to see 
what’s going on. It’s all right, isn’t it? ” 

If Aunt Martha was stubborn she seldom 
showed it where her nephew was concerned, and 
this time was no exception to the rule. She 
yielded to him—whereas the whole force of Gen¬ 
eral Howe only made her the more resolute! 

“ Good for you, Aunt Martha,” said Jud—he 
had got into the habit of calling her “ aunt,” and 
she seemed rather pleased with him for doing it. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


161 


“ I picked up some information to-day,” he 
added. “ Our privateers have been doing some 
great things on the high seas. They’ve captured 
hundreds of the King’s vessels.” 

“ I’ve heard of Captain Manly,” said Aunt 
Martha, 

“ Well, there are lots besides Captain Manly,” 
Jud replied. “And another thing—our men 
have chosen a flag; it’s called the Union Flag of 
the Thirteen Stripes—one stripe for each Colony, 
you see. They raised it the first day of the 
year.” 

“ My, my, Judson. Where you and Donald 
learn all these things is a mystery to me.” 

“Well, you see,” replied the resourceful Jud, 
“ if we go to Faneuil Hall to-morrow night we’ll 
probably learn more, hey, Don? ” 

But at that moment Snell and Hawkins en¬ 
tered, and the conversation ceased. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A FARCE IS INTERRUPTED 

Dusk had fallen over the town when Don and 
Jud, warmly clad in heavy coats and mufflers, 
made their way toward Faneuil Hall. Others 
were walking in the same direction—mostly 
officers, who stepped with the firmness and con¬ 
fidence that marked an officer of the King. The 
night was cold and dark, and few lights gleamed 
as they once had gleamed, cheerily, in the win¬ 
dows of the shops along King Street and Mer¬ 
chant’s Row; yet there was cheery conversation. 
The boys could hear laughing and congenial talk¬ 
ing among the hurrying throngs. 

“ I just feel like laughing good and hard to¬ 
night,” they heard one man say. 

“ Yes, and I too,” another agreed. “ There’s 
been little enough to laugh at ever since we landed 
in this town.” 

“ Well, you’ll laugh to-night, or I’m a Dutch¬ 
man,” said a third. “ There’s to be a farce called 
162 


OF OLD BOSTON 


163 


the Blockade of Boston. Funny! I thought I’d 
laugh myself sick the first time I heard it re¬ 
hearsed. I tell you the officers who wrote it— 
let’s see; who was it now? Well, never mind; 
they certainly wrote a funny play. Just wait 
till you catch sight of General Washington! ” 

Jud scowled in the darkness. “ Remember, 
Don,” he whispered, “ we’ll have to keep a firm 
hold on our tempers.” 

Don laughed. “ I’ll keep a firm hold of mine, 
Jud; but I’m not so sure about you. You’re 
hot-headed, you know.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” said Jud. “He 
who laughs last, you know-” 

“ But say,” Don interrupted him, “ you haven’t 
told me yet how we’re going to get inside the 
place.” 

“ That’s so,” replied Jud and thrust his elbow 
knowingly into his companion’s ribs. “ This will 
get us inside, I think,” and he drew something 
small and shiny from his pocket and handed it 
to Don. 

“A silver snuff-box,” said Don, looking at it 
with some wonder. 

“Yes; it’s Sergeant-Major Bluster’s. He 
couldn’t seem to find it to-day. Funny, too, 



164 


A PATRIOT LAB 


’cause if he’d asked me, I could have told him 
right where it was all the time—in my pocket. 
Do you understand now? ” 

Don did not understand and said so emphat¬ 
ically. 

Jud laughed good-naturedly. “ You’re pretty 
dull sometimes,” he said frankly. “ Just you let 
me do the talking and we’ll be inside Faneuil 
Hall in three shakes.” 

“ You’ve been doing most of the talking.” Don 
could not resist the thrust. “ So go ahead and 
finish.” 

“All right; now here we are.” 

The boys had reached the hall, which was well 
lighted and partly filled with troops. Don and 
Jud stood to one side of the door and watched 
the men as they came singly and in groups and 
vanished inside the great building. There were 
ladies too, most of them young, and all escorted 
by gallant officers. Jud kept a sharp lookout 
toward the door. 

At last Don, a bit impatient at the delay, 
asked, “ Flow much longer are we going to 
wait? ” 

“ Just a few minutes, I think. I’m waiting 
for fat Bluster—ah, here he comes, isn’t it? ” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


165 


“ You’re right,” said Don. “ Look at the gait, 
will you? ” 

Bluster strode pompously to the door, nodded 
curtly to one of the soldiers who was on duty 
there and passed into the hall. 

“ Come on,” said Don. 

“ No; just a few minutes longer. Can’t you 
wait? ” 

“ Say, Jud, you’re a mystery to me to-night,” 
said Don. “ I don’t know what under the sun 
you’re trying to do. I don’t think you know, 
yourself! ” 

“ Who’s doing all the talking now? ” inquired 
Jud with a grin. 

For almost ten minutes the boys waited in the 
cold. Then Jud led the way to the door. The 
soldier on duty at once blocked the passage. 
“ Scat, you youngsters,” he said. 

Jud surely had his temper well in hand that 
night. “ We’re looking for a sergeant-major,” 
he said, smiling. “ We’ve got to see him, for 
we have something important that belongs to 
him.” 

“ What is it? ” 

Jud was embarrassed—at least, he showed 
every sign of being embarrassed. “ It’s—it’s 


166 A PATRIOT LAD 

just a little thing with a lady’s name engraved 
on it.” 

The soldier laughed. “ Do you think you 
could find him in there? ” 

“ Between the two of us I think we could,” 
Jud replied promptly. 

“ Well, be quick about it then.” 

The boys were as quick as a flash. 

“ Young Tories,” the soldier said to a by¬ 
stander as they entered the building. 

Jud turned abruptly, but Don grasped his arm 
and pulled him along. “ Don’t be a hothead,” 
he whispered. 

It was only luck that made Jud spy Bluster a 
few moments later in the crowded hall. The 
sergeant-major was sitting on a chair at the ex¬ 
treme right of the hall. His hat was on the floor 
beneath the chair, and he was leaning back with 
his arms folded across his chest. 

More than one Redcoat looked inquiringly at 
the boys as they walked round the chairs and 
benches, and thought no doubt that they were the 
sons of some prominent Tory who had brought 
them with him. As Jud was passing behind 
Bluster’s chair he dropped his hat and, in picking 
it up, succeeded in laying the ornamental snuff- 


OF OLD BOSTON 167 

box on the hat of the soldier—a circumstance that 
puzzled the fellow till the end of his days. 

After that the boys found a secluded corner 
where they stood, in the shadows, and waited for 
the play to begin. In front of them were Red¬ 
coats, talking and laughing and smoking. There 
were a great many ladies, all of whom had come to 
laugh at the expense of the townsfolk of Boston 
and of the Continental army outside the town. 
Fans were moving lightly to and fro, though 
there was no need of fans in the cold building; 
scabbards and buckles were clacking against the 
wooden seats; and the lights round the small 
stage jarred and flickered as couples moved in 
front of them to their seats. 

Don and Jud said little, but their eyes and ears 
were alert. At last the music started, and some 
time later the curtain on the stage was hauled up. 
There were to be two plays that evening, the first 
of which was called “ The Busy Body.” The 
boys watched the actors, all of whom were Red¬ 
coats, and thought the thing rather dull and 
stupid. But the audience seemed to enjoy it; 
there were frequent bursts of applause and a 
good deal of laughter. 

“ Huh,” said Jud as the curtain went down 


168 


A PATRIOT LAD 


for the last time. “ I guess you have to be a 
Redcoat or a Tory to like a thing like that.” 

“Look,” whispered Don. “Bluster’s found 
his snuff-box.” 

“ Sure enough! ” 

It was all that the boys could do to keep from 
laughing as they watched the big sergeant-major. 
He had found his snuff-box indeed. In the un¬ 
certain light his face was ruddier than ever, and 
his little eyes seemed to be popping from his head 
as he turned first to one side, then to the other. 
He looked at the little box; he looked at his hat; 
he looked at his cuffs as if the thing might have 
been hidden there. Perhaps he thought he had 
suddenly become a magician. Then he looked at 
the ceiling, as if to find the person—or the bird— 
that had succeeded in dropping it so that it had 
landed on his hat beneath his chair. But even a 
magician or a bird could not have done that! 

He was still looking at the ceiling when the 
lights were dimmed, and the curtain was hauled 
up again. “ The Blockade of Boston,” which 
was to be played next, was a farce in which the 
character who represented General Washington 
was supposed to stride awkwardly upon the stage, 
wearing a long rusty sword and a wig that was 


OF OLD BOSTON 


169 


many sizes too large for him; behind him walked 
his servant, an uncouth country boy with a rusty 
gun. But the audience was not to laugh at the 
antics of the two that night. 

The curtain had been up only a few moments 
when the noise of firing sounded from a distance, 
and then a red-coated sergeant burst into the hall 
and exclaimed: 

“ The Yankees are attacking our works on 
Bunker’s Hill!” 

Startling as the announcement was, it carried 
only a ripple of mild excitement; for no doubt 
many of the audience supposed that the ser¬ 
geant’s words were part of the farce that was to 
be played. “A good beginning anyway,” a 
lieutenant who was sitting in front of the boys 
said to his neighbor and laughed heartily. 

At that moment a general who was seated close 
to the stage sprang to his feet. 44 Look,” 
whispered Don. 44 There’s Howe himself. I 
didn’t notice him before.” 

44 Officers to your posts! ” cried the general in 
a ringing voice. 

Then there was excitement enough for anyone. 
To the two hoys it seemed as if the whole audi¬ 
ence rose and started for the doors at the same 


170 


A PATRIOT LAB 


instant. Women were screaming and several 
had already fainted. Chairs and benches were 
being overturned—one chair overturned with 
Sergeant-Major Bluster in it. Scabbards were 
clashing and men were shouting hoarse com¬ 
mands. 

“ Let’s get out of here! ” whispered Jud. 

“All right; but wait till the rest have gone; 
we’d be killed in that mob.” 

“ What a glorious ending to the ‘ Blockade of 
Boston’!” Jud exulted. “Couldn’t be better, 
could it? ” 

In the excitement some of the lights round the 
stage were blown out, and then the place was 
so dark that you could hardly distinguish faces. 

And in the street it was still darker. The boys 
were among the last to leave the hall, and as they 
stepped outside they could hear the rattle of 
small arms and the sound of cheering away to 
the north. 

“ It’s an attack on the town,” whispered Jud 
excitedly. “ That’s just what it is—a big at¬ 
tack! ” 

But, positive as Jud was, he was wrong, as 
both boys found out later. General Putnam had 
sent a party of perhaps two hundred Continentals 


OF OLD BOSTON 


171 


under the command of Major Knowlton to de¬ 
stroy fourteen houses along Mill Street in 
Charlestown and to capture the British guards 
who were stationed in them. Through a mistake 
some of the houses were fired too soon, and the 
flames gave the alarm to the enemy on Bunker 
Hill. But the daring attempt was by no means 
unsuccessful. Major Knowlton succeeded in 
burning eight of the houses and in capturing five 
prisoners. Washington himself was well pleased 
with the venture. 

But the thing that pleased Don and Jud most 
was the untimely ending of the night’s entertain¬ 
ment. No one thought of returning to the hall. 

“ Here comes Bluster,” said Jud, stepping into 
a doorway on King Street to let the Redcoat pass. 
“ I don’t want him to see me.” 

When the sergeant-major had passed, the boys 
made their way hurriedly to Don’s house in Pud¬ 
ding Lane, which they reached shortly before 
eleven o’clock. 

“ Well,” said Aunt Martha, “ did you hear 
anything of interest at the hall? ” 

“ Did we? ” repeated Don. “ You tell what 
happened, Jud! ” 

And Jud told her, not omitting the incident of 


172 


A PATRIOT LAB 


the snuff-box. And when he had finished, Don 
thought his aunt laughed more heartily than she 
had laughed since the blockade began. “ I’m 
glad you boys went,” she said. “ I’m glad you 
could see the fine officers discomfited. They de¬ 
serve it for the way some of them have acted.” 

Jud was suddenly thoughtful. “ What in the 
world will I tell fat Bluster if he ever asks me 
about the snuff-box? ” he inquired. 

“ Tell him the truth, Judson,” said Aunt Mar¬ 
tha. “ But don’t tell him unless he asks you,” 
she added with a smile. 

“ I’ll tell you what to tell him,” said Don. 
“ Tell him that the last time he used snuff he 
sneezed and blew the box over the Old South 
Meeting-House, and that when it came down it 
landed right on top of his hat.” 

“Donald!” exclaimed his aunt. “Now you 
boys scat to bed—quick! ” 

“ That’s the second time we’ve been scatted 
to-night,” said Jud as he followed Don up-stairs. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A BROKEN LOCK 

For many days the townsfolk and the soldiers 
talked of the performance that the Continental 
assault on Charlestown had interrupted. Don 
and Jud joked about it frequently, but they were 
always careful that neither Hawkins nor Snell 
should overhear them. 

If all the Redcoats had been like Hawkins, the 
good people of Boston would have had little to 
complain of. He was always courteous and con¬ 
siderate ; he seemed to spend as little time as pos¬ 
sible in the house and kept to his room even on 
the coldest nights. The fellow was undoubtedly 
a fine soldier and as loyal to his King as any of 
them were, and secretly both Don and Jud ad¬ 
mired him for it. He seemed to have a genuine 
affection for Don, though he rarely spoke more 
than a few words at a time to the boy. 

Snell, on the other hand, was surly and quick¬ 
tempered and an ugly person to have about the 
house. He was inquisitive also. Once Aunt 
173 


174 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Martha found him trying to unlock the door to 
the cellar, and though he desisted at sight of her, 
the circumstance troubled her. It troubled Don 
too, but there was something that troubled him 
more than that. Snell had formed an acquaint¬ 
ance with Tom Bullard, and the two spent much 
time together. 

“ I tell you,” Don said to Jud one evening in 
February, “ I don’t like it one bit, the way those 
two are together so much. Tom Bullard hates 
us like poison—I know that’s why he tried to 
steal your ma’s chickens—and I’m sure he’d like 
nothing better than to make us uncomfortable 
somehow.” 

“ But he can’t do anything, can he? You and 
your aunt have complied with all the town regula¬ 
tions, haven’t you? ” 

Don did not reply at once. “ Well, maybe,” 
he said at last. 

But Jud was not easily put off. “ What do 
you mean? ” he asked. 

“ I’ll tell you something sometime,” said Don. 
“ Not now, though.” 

Don might not have told his companion his 
secret at all if it had not been for an unfortunate 
event that occurred toward the end of the month. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


175 


One Saturday when Aunt Martha had been at 
the home of a sick neighbor almost all morning 
Don entered the house in Pudding Lane and to 
his consternation found Snell coming up from the 
cellar with an armful of wood. The broken lock 
lying on the floor told how the man had entered. 

For several moments the two stood confronting 
each other; Don’s face was flaming, and his heart 
was beating a tattoo against his ribs. Snell, a bit 
discomfited, soon recovered his poise. “ It’s cold 
in here,” he said; “ I suspected all along that you 
had wood in the cellar.” 

“ There’s wood out in the back shed too,” re¬ 
plied Don in a voice that trembled slightly. 
“ Why didn’t you use that? ” 

Snell evidently thought no reply was neces¬ 
sary. He crossed the floor and tossed several 
sticks upon the fire. 

“ Why didn’t you use the wood in the shed? ” 
repeated Don in a louder voice. 

Snell looked at the boy tolerantly. “ Now 
see here, young sire,” he said slowly. “ It won’t 
do for you to ask too many questions. I will say, 
though, that if the wood in the shed had not been 
wet, I might not have gone to the cellar. Now 
let that be an end of it. Understand? ” 


176 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Don was silent and bit his lips. How long had 
the fellow been down cellar? Had he seen 
the merchandise and the powder that belonged to 
his uncle? Or had he known that they were 
there in the first place? Or had he gone down 
merely to fetch dry wood? Over and over Don 
asked himself the questions without being able to 
answer them. 

He glanced slyly at the Redcoat as he sat in 
front of the fire, toasting his fingers. The man 
was smiling to himself—a faint, inscrutable smile 
that told nothing. The fellow might be smiling 
because he had discovered the stuff, or he might 
be smiling merely because of the discomfiture that 
he knew he had caused the boy. Don could not 
tell which answer was right. 

At any rate he was glad that Snell was not in 
the house when Aunt Martha entered two hours 
later. If Snell had been there he would have 
learned just exactly what she thought of him and 
of his inquisitive visit to the cellar. 

Hawkins, however, did enter while Don and 
his aunt were discussing the matter. “ What is 
wrong? ” he asked, glancing from one to the 
other and then at the broken lock, which Don was 
trying to fix. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


177 


“ Your comrade,” replied Aunt Martha 
steadily, “ has seen fit to force his way into the 
cellar to get wood with which to replenish the fire. 
Our fire-wood is in the back shed, and he knows 
it.” 

Hawkins frowned and then, taking the lock 
from Don’s hands, examined it. 

“ There is a great deal of wood in the back 
shed, as you know,” continued Don’s aunt, 44 and 
I know that it is not all wet as he says it is.” 

44 Just so,” said Hawkins and placed the lock 
on the table. 44 Just so.” And he went 
abruptly to his room. 

44 There,” said Aunt Martha. 44 What did I 
say? They’re all alike, these Redcoats.” 

Later Snell returned, and while Don was help¬ 
ing his aunt to prepare the supper the two heard 
the sound of voices from up-stairs. Louder and 
louder they became until it was quite plain 
that the two soldiers were disagreeing over some¬ 
thing. 

Suddenly the voices ceased, and the ceiling 
jarred with a heavy crash. 

44 O Donald! What are they doing?” 

Steps sounded on the stairs, and a moment 
later Hawkins, red of face, entered the room. 


178 A PATRIOT LAD 

“ I’d like a basin of hot water, if you please,” he 
said. 

Aunt Martha hastened to get it for him, and 
presently he returned with it to the room. He 
was down again in a few minutes and went out 
into the street. 

Don and his aunt had finished supper when 
Hawkins again entered the house. “ Here, my 
lad,” he said and put a small package into Don’s 
hand. “ No,” he added, smiling, “ it’s something 
that you can very well accept. Don’t thank me 
for it.” And he hurried up-stairs. 

Don opened the package; it contained a new 
lock similar to the one that Snell had broken. 

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed Aunt Martha. 
“ Donald, I believe I wronged that man.” 

When Snell came down-stairs the following 
morning he made for the door without delay, but, 
quick as he was, Aunt Martha observed that he 
carried the marks of his encounter with Hawkins; 
one eye was partly discolored, and his cheek was 
swollen. 

Later in the morning Don fixed the new lock in 
place and then hurried off to find Jud and tell 
him what had happened. 

The day was warm for a day in late February; 


OF OLD BOSTON 


179 


indeed the winter, which had begun with severe 
weather, had proved to be mild after all. The 
two boys directed their steps toward Walmer’s 
wharf at the foot of Beech Street, where they sat 
down in the sunlight with their backs against one 
of the deserted warehouses. 

“We’ll be safe here,” said Don; “no one is 
likely to overhear what I’ve got to tell you, Jud.” 

Jud leaned forward eagerly, and neither boy 
observed a third person, who had followed them 
at some distance and who now took a position just 
within hearing round the corner of the silent 
warehouse. 

“ Go on and tell it,” said Jud. “ You’ve got 
me all curious.” 

“ Well, in our cellar-” began Don, and the 

hidden figure near the corner of the building 
slunk a step nearer. “ In our cellar there’s 
quantities and quantities of linen and cloth and 
some powder-” And Don told of the pur¬ 

chase that his uncle had made before the blockade. 

When he had finished that part of his story 
Jud whistled softly. “ My, but that’s risky 
business, keeping it there,” he said. “ Just 
suppose-” 

Don put his hand on his friend’s arm. “ Not 





180 


A PATRIOT LAD 


so loud” he whispered. “ And, Jud, I know 
you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone—not 
even to your mother.” 

“ Of course not.” 

Don glanced round cautiously. The old 
wharf apparently was quite deserted except for 
themselves. The sun was shining brightly on the 
water; the wind, blowing across the rough planks, 
was rattling the loose shingles on a small fisher¬ 
man’s shack beside the big warehouse. 

“ Now for some reason,” Don continued, 
“ Snell, the Redcoat, broke into our cellar yester¬ 
day, and that’s why I’m telling you this; I’m 
afraid he knows what’s down there, and I want 
you to help me if you can.” 

Jud’s eyes snapped as he listened to his com¬ 
rade’s story of how Snell had broken the lock on 
the cellar door. 

As a matter of fact Snell had not known of 
what was in the cellar; it was curiosity more 
than anything else that had prompted him to 
break the lock. But it would not be long before 
he knew just what was hidden away beneath the 
little house in Pudding Lane, for before Don had 
finished his story the figure that had been listen¬ 
ing so intently at the corner of the warehouse 


OF OLD BOSTON 


181 


drew back and walked quickly in the direction of 
Beech Street. He had not gone far, however, 
before he turned on his heel and strode carelessly 
toward the wharf. 

A few minutes later the boys spied Tom Bul¬ 
lard walking toward them; his hands were in his 
pockets, and he seemed wrapped in thought. 
“ Oh! ” he exclaimed as if catching sight of them 
for the first time. “ Didn’t expect to find any¬ 
body here.” 

“ Huh,” said Jud and turned his back. 

Tom walked to the edge of the dock and, smil¬ 
ing to himself, stood for some time, looking at the 
sparkling waters. Then he turned and strode 
back toward Beech Street. 

Don glanced at his companion. “ It’s lucky 
he didn’t hear anything,” he said. 

“ If he had,” Jud replied with emphasis, “ I’d 
have pushed him into the water. What do you 
suppose he was doing down here anyway? ” 

“ Oh, just snoopin’ around,” replied Don 
easily. “ Since he’s become a sort of aide to old 
Buggies he’s been doing it, you know.” 

The boys continued to talk in low tones for 
some time. It was pleasant there on the dock in 
the morning sunlight. 


182 


A PATRIOT LAD 


Once Tom Bullard was out of their sight, he 
started to run. He ran up Beech Street to 
Shea’s Lane and from there made his way to 
Common Street. Out on the Common some of 
the companies were drilling, but Tom did not 
pause to look at them. He crossed the Mall and 
then at a fast walk went here and there among 
the troops. 

It took him almost half an hour to find the per¬ 
son he was looking for, and when he did find him 
at last he was so excited that he could hardly talk. 
“ Snell—Snell,” he began, “ I’ve got—something 
—to—to-” 

“ Toot, toot! ” said Snell, taking his arm. 
“ Get your breath before you tell it.” 

Tom got his breath, enough of it anyway to tell 
the Redcoat what he had overheard at the ware¬ 
house. Then Snell was almost as much excited 
as Tom was. He rubbed his swollen face 
thoughtfully. 

“ Powder in the cellar of that house! ” he ex¬ 
claimed. “ Powder and fine cloth, and I like a 
fool was down there and didn’t even see it! 
You’re sure of it, Bullard? ” 

“ I should say I am,” Tom replied. “ Didn’t I 
hear of it with my own ears? ” 



OF OLD BOSTON 


183 


“ What are you going to do about it? ” 

“ That’s for the two of us to decide together,” 
replied Tom. “ There’s no hurry, you know. 
We want to do it in the best way.” 

“Yes; in the best way.” Snell touched his 
fingers lightly to his discolored eye. “ In the 
best way,” he repeated. 


CHAPTER XV 


MARCH WINDS BLOW 

It was clear that Snell’s idea of the “ best 
way ” to punish Don and his aunt was a way that 
would also punish Hawkins, with whom Snell 
was now on the bitterest of hostile terms; the two 
soldiers neither spoke nor so much as glanced at 
each other. But whatever Snell’s plan was, he 
and Tom were slow in carrying it out. 

No doubt they were busy with other things, for 
the month of March began in a way that promised 
to keep the Redcoats and the Tories occupied for 
some little time. On the night of the second the 
Continental batteries opened fire on the town. 

Don and his Aunt Martha were in bed when 
the firing began. For a long while they lay 
listening to the crash, crash of the shells, which 
seemed to be landing somewhere on the Common. 
They heard Snell and Hawkins descend the stairs 
and pass out into the street; then Aunt Martha 
went to her nephew’s room. “ Donald, my boy,” 
she said, “ what can it mean? ” 

184 


OF OLD BOSTON 


185 


“ It means that General Washington is prepar¬ 
ing to drive out old Howe and his men,” Don 
replied confidently. 

Don was nearer right than his aunt supposed. 
The two following nights the bombardment was 
repeated; it seemed that every gun in all the forts, 
both friendly and hostile, was crashing forth and 
illuminating the sky every few seconds. 

And on the next morning, the fifth of March 
and the anniversary of the Boston Massacre, the 
whole town—and especially the British high- 
command—opened their eyes wide with amaze¬ 
ment. Strong fortifications had sprung up, as if 
by magic, on Dorchester Heights. Grim black 
guns were pointing at the town; grim black guns 
threatened the British fleet, which lay at anchor 
out in the harbor. 

Later in the morning Jud came hurrying into 
Pudding Lane and entered the house; he was 
trembling with excitement. “ The time’s come! ” 
he cried. “ Have you seen Dorchester Heights? 
The Redcoats have either got to attack the 
Heights the way they did Bunker’s Hill, 
or they’ve got to clear out. I hope they at¬ 
tack! ” 

“ Goodness! ” exclaimed Aunt Martha. 


186 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ It’s true,” declared Jud, “ everything I’ve 
told you. The Tories are scared silly! ” 

“ Have you seen Tom Bullard? ” asked Don. 

“ Yes; I passed him on the way. He didn’t 
seem scared, though—maybe he’s just too stupid. 
He shook his fist at me, and he said, ‘ You’d 
better keep away from Pudding Lane if you 
know what’s good for you.’ ” 

“ What did he mean? ” asked Aunt Martha. 

“ Nothing, I guess,” said Don. “ He likes to 
talk, that’s all.” 

Throughout the rest of the day the town was a 
place of keen excitement. Howe, it seems, had 
decided to accept Washington’s challenge and 
attack the Heights. He was a brave man, and 
his own honor as well as the honor of England 
was at stake; he did not mean to yield weakly to 
a band of “ rebels.” He ordered twenty-four 
hundred men to embark at once in transports; 
under the command of Lord Percy, they were to 
land at Castle William, from which place they 
were to attack Dorchester Heights when night 
fell. 

Don and Jud saw the Redcoats assemble for 
the attack and then march off. They saw Haw¬ 
kins, tall, erect, well-composed and confident; 


OF OLD BOSTON 187 

they saw Snell marching in another rank—and he 
seemed anything but confident. 

By noon virtually everyone in Boston and the 
vicinity expected to see a terrible battle. It 
seemed inevitable, for both sides were preparing 
for it. While the British were mustering for the 
attack on Dorchester Heights, Washington was 
preparing to attack the British lines in Boston. 
A fine detachment of four thousand troops were 
on parade in Cambridge; under the command 
of Generals Putnam, Greene and Sullivan 
they were all ready to embark in boats at the 
mouth of the river. And, as at Bunker Hill, 
people had taken up points of vantage on 
the tops of houses and on some of the near-by 
hills. 

But somewhat to the disappointment of Don 
and Jud the two armies were not to meet. In 
the afternoon the wind blew furiously, and a wild 
destructive surf crashed and pounded on the 
shores; no boat could possibty land with safety in 
such a storm. Great limbs cracked and crashed 
on the Common, and boards and shingles were 
torn from many of the houses. The two boys, 
hurrying along Long Acre, narrowly missed 
being struck with a pile of stones that came 


188 A PATRIOT LAB 

tumbling from a chimney on a house near Raw- 
son’s Lane. 

“ Say, that was close, wasn’t it? ” exclaimed 
Jud. “ A little more, Don, and you and I might 
have been killed.” 

Don laughed. “ Come on, Jud, and let’s get 
home. Just look how dark it’s getting! It’s 
going to rain too.” 

That evening the rain came down in torrents, 
and the wind continued to blow with unabated 
fury. And the next day, the sixth, found the 
waves in the harbor high and confused. Both 
armies waited; and Washington’s men strength¬ 
ened their fortifications. 

The next day Howe found himself in a critical 
and perplexing situation. His army was at the 
mercy of the Continental batteries, and the fleet 
was unable to ride in safety in the harbor. To 
remain in Boston would be to expose his men to 
the greatest danger; to withdraw would be to lose 
much valuable property. But Howe was first of 
all a soldier, and after a hurried council he de¬ 
termined to withdraw to save his army. Prepa¬ 
rations began at once. 

“They’re going, Aunt Martha!” cried Don, 


OF OLD BOSTON 189 

bursting in upon his aunt. “ The Redcoats are 
going to leave the town! ” 

“ And what will they do to the town before 
they go? O Donald, what will they do? ” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Don thoughtfully. 
“ They could do a lot of bad things, I suppose, 
but, Aunt Martha, I don’t think they’ll do any¬ 
thing very bad. I tell you it won’t be well for 
them if they set fire to any buildings.” 

“ That’s what I’m afraid of most of all,” said 
his aunt. 

Many other persons besides Aunt Martha 
were worried about the fate of Boston. In the 
Continental army itself there was many a soldier 
who wondered what would become of his home 
and of his relatives who had refused to leave the 
town. 

After a little group of prominent citizens had 
sent a petition to Washington, begging him to 
take no measures that would injure the town, the 
two armies reached a tacit understanding that the 
British might embark without the Continentals’ 
molesting them. Nevertheless, the American 
army held itself in readiness to act in case the 
enemy did any damage. 

Meanwhile, Washington was strengthening his 


190 


A PATRIOT LAD 


defenses round the town. On the evening of the 
ninth he sent a strong detachment to plant a bat¬ 
tery on Nook’s Hill to threaten the fleet; but the 
British learned of his purpose, and almost all 
night Don and his aunt lay awake and listened 
to the roar of cannon. 

The next day Howe issued a printed proclama¬ 
tion that almost caused Aunt Martha to lose 
heart. Don and Jud brought her word of it. 

“ All linen and woolen goods have to be turned 
over to Crean Brush, the Tory,” whispered Don 
—for Snell was up-stairs. “ Old Howe knows 
there’s stuff hidden in the town that our men can 
use. That’s why he wants it.” 

Aunt Martha glanced involuntarily at the door 
to the cellar. “ We’d best give it up, Donald,” 
she said. “ I’d hoped we could keep it, but I see 
now that we can’t. Oh, what a foolish woman I 
was! ” 

“ No, Aunt Martha—no!” Don’s voice 
trembled in spite of himself. “ Nobody knows 
we have the stuff, and the Redcoats can’t possibly 
search every cellar.” 

“ Don is right, Aunt Martha,” whispered Jud. 
“ Don’t you turn it over to them! ” 

“ But if they come and search 


Aunt 



OF OLD BOSTON 


191 


Martha checked herself suddenly, for Snell was 
coming down the stairs. 

Without looking to right or left, the Redcoat 
crossed the room and went out on the street. 

“ Did he hear us? ” asked Don’s aunt. 

“ Not likely,” replied Jud. “ Now don’t you 
say one word about that stuff in the cellar.” 

Aunt Martha shook her head in uncertainty, 
but she finally decided to do as the boys had 
advised. 

The next day Crean Brush began his work of 
searching for hidden supplies. Stores were 
broken into, and goods of all sorts were carried 
off in violation of strict orders that Howe had 
issued. Lawless bands of soldiers, sailors, 
marines and Tories went from house to house 
and took what pleased them. And while they 
were doing that, the army was transporting its 
equipment to the water-front to be shipped 
aboard the vessels. 

All day Don and his aunt remained in the 
house, anxiously expecting every minute to hear 
the sound of Crean Brush’s men outside. Jud 
did not put in an appearance until after dark, and 
then he remained only for a few moments to say 
that a searching party had come to his house but 


192 


A PATRIOT LAD 


had found nothing. “ If they had,” he added,, 
“ Ma and I would have been as surprised as they, 
I guess.” 

Don and his aunt laughed. Before Jud went 
away he got Don to one side. “ Say, Don,” he 
whispered, “ you’ve got powder in the cellar 
along with that other stuff, haven’t you? ” 

“ Yes, a little,” Don replied. 

“ Well,” said Jud, “ if I were you I’d move it 
somewhere else.” 

“ Why would you do that? ” 

“ Well, at the rate Crean Brush and his gangs 
are going they’re pretty sure to reach your house 
sooner or later; and if they search it and find that 
powder—well, I don’t know what they won’t 
do.” 

“ I guess they’ll do enough even if they just 
find the cloth and stuff,” said Don. “ So it 
seems to me I might as well leave it all together.” 

“ ISTo, Don; do as I tell you! ” Jud’s voice was 
low and excited. 

Don laughed. “ I never knew you to be so 
cautious before, Jud.” 

But Jud seized his friend’s arm. “ Take my 
advice for once and do it,” he urged. “ I’ll help 
you move it now if you like.” 


OF OLD BOSTON 193 

“ No, not now,” replied Don. “ Maybe 
later.” 

“ All right, then.” And Jud hurried out into 
the night. 


CHAPTER XVI 

CREAN BRUSH'S MEN 

Don said nothing to his aunt about the powder 
in the cellar. Indeed after Jud had gone he 
thought little of it and of the advice his com¬ 
panion had given. Don and his aunt waited 
until Snell and Hawkins had gone up-stairs, and 
then Aunt Martha said: 

“ Well, Donald, I think we’re almost at the 
end of the story.” 

“ What story? ” asked Don. 

Aunt Martha smiled. “ I merely meant,” she 
replied, “ that in a few more days we’ll be all 
through with our suffering—or else there will be 
more suffering, far more terrible than some of us 
can bear perhaps.” 

“ You’re still afraid they’ll burn the town? ” 

“ I can’t get it off my mind. Just look at 
Charlestown across the water. What a snug 
little place to live in it used to be—and just see it 
now! ” 

Don was silent for a few moments. “ Every¬ 
thing has gone pretty well so far,” he said at last. 

194 


OF OLD BOSTON 195 

“ And maybe before long we’ll see Uncle David 
and Glen/’ 

“ O Donald, I’ve prayed for it! ” 

“ I certainly wish that one or the other were 
here now.” Don was thinking of Crean Brush 
and of his lawless men. 

“ Ah, yes. Well, we’d best go to bed now. 
Another night—another night.” 

“ Yes, and before you know it General Wash¬ 
ington will be here, and the Redcoats will be on 
the water.” 

Up-stairs in his room, Don lay for some time 
listening to the sound of firing that seemed to 
come from the direction of Noddles Island. The 
night was dark, and a strong wind was blowing 
against the little windows. From across the hall 
came the sounds of snoring and of heavy breath¬ 
ing; apparently both Snell and Hawkins were 
asleep. Don closed his eyes and lay back on the 
pillow; but the position was uncomfortable, and 
he turned on his side. That position also un¬ 
comfortable, and he turned on his other side. 
Then his foot began to itch, then his back, then 
his neck. He could not sleep. 

At last he sat up in bed. Now he could hear 
the regular breathing of his aunt; no doubt she 


196 


A PATRIOT LAD 


was exhausted with the day’s worry. Once more 
he tried to get to sleep, but it was of no use. He 
raised himself on his elbow. “ Now what in 
thunder ails me? ” he thought. 

There was something—something that some¬ 
body had said. What was it? The next instant 
he thought of Jud and of what he had said about 
the powder. “That’s it!” he said to himself. 
“ What if Crean Brush and his men should find it 
in the cellar and, drunk as some of them were 
likely to he, touch a light to it! ” 

The thought made him spring part way out of 
bed. Aunt Martha was still breathing regu¬ 
larly. That was enough for Don to make up 
his mind. 

He began softly to dress. The house was cold, 
and he shivered as he put on his shirt and his 
trousers. In a few minutes he was all dressed 
except for his shoes. Then he made his way 
cautiously to the head of the stairs. Once he 
stepped on a loose, squeaky board and heard his 
aunt turn and sigh; but she did not waken. 
Neither did either of the soldiers. 

Down the steep stairs Don went on all fours. 
In the kitchen he found the candlestick, but he 
did not light it until he had opened the door to 


OF OLD BOSTON 


197 


the cellar. Half-way down the old steps he 
paused, undecided whether to go the rest of the 
way. Then he took another step, but it required 
courage. The flickering light of the candle sent 
grotesque, ghostlike shadows dancing along the 
walls, like great unearthly black vultures. 

He wondered whether he were doing right and 
then wished that Jud were with him. But, tak¬ 
ing a fresh grip on himself, he went the rest of 
the way. 

Trembling with nervousness, he set the candle 
on a box and looked about him. All around lay 
the goods that David Hollis had bought in a 
hasty moment—large bales and small bales piled 
side by side and on top of one another. With 
shaking fingers Don examined them, going 
quickly from one to another. Then suddenly he 
came upon the powder; there were one small keg 
and seven canvas bags of it lying close to the foot 
of the steps. 

He lifted the keg and then lifted one of the 
bags; the keg was much the heavier. “ Now 
what shall I do with the stuff? ” he wondered. 

For a few moments he stood in deep thought. 
The old cellar was cold and damp, and a draft 
from somewhere was stirring the flame of the 


198 


A PATRIOT LAD 


candle. “ I know,” he said at last and bent over 
the keg again. 

With an effort he lifted it and started up the 
stairs. In a moment or two he no longer felt 
cold. It was no easy task to get that heavy keg 
up the stairs. From step to step he half rolled, 
half lifted it, and in a few minutes he was sweat¬ 
ing with the exertion. Another thing that made 
the work hard was that he did not dare make any 
noise. 

At last he got the keg to the top, and then after 
a brief rest he carried it through the room to the 
back shed, the door to which had only a latch. 
There he found another candle, and lighting it, 
set it on the floor. Five minutes later he had 
the keg hidden well at the back of the wood- 
pile. 

Then he returned for the bags. One at a time 
he carried them—all seven of them—up the steps 
and stowed them close to the keg. Having 
covered them well with the wood and having 
snuffed both candles, he returned to his room and 
began hastily to undress. He was congratulat¬ 
ing himself on not having disturbed anyone when 
he heard the voice of his aunt: 

“ Donald, are you awake? ” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


199 


Don paused in the act of removing his shirt. 
He did not reply at once. 

“ Donald! ” 

“ Uh-hm,” said Don. 

“ There—you are awake! ” 

“ Didn’t you hear a noise down-stairs a few 
minutes ago? ” 

“ Noise? H’m—what noise? ” Don was in 
bed by this time and had the covers well round his 
head. 

He heard his aunt sigh heavily. How could 
her nephew sleep so soundly? The good woman 
was really sorry that she had wakened him! 

It was not long before Don was asleep indeed. 
Nor did he waken when Snell and Hawkins de¬ 
scended the stairs in the morning. Aunt Martha 
had to call him four times before he roused and 
crawled sleepily from his bed. 

“ My goodness,” said his aunt as she was put¬ 
ting the breakfast on the table, “ you’re surely a 
sleepyhead this morning, Donald Alden. Ah, 
well, you’re a growing boy, and you need your 
rest.” 

Don grinned up at her. “ You have a speck 
on your specs, Aunt Martha.” 

“ Donald! ” 


200 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ A speck of dust on your spectacles, Aunt 
Martha.” 

His aunt hastily removed the speck with the 
comer of her apron. “ Now just see that 
candle,” she said. “ I thought it was just yester¬ 
day that I put a fresh one in the stick—but see 
how short it is now! ” 

Don examined the candle with great care, as 
if to find out what had become of the rest of it. 

“ Why, it seems that-” he began and then 

sprang to his feet. 

From the street came the sound of shouting 
and of heavy footsteps on the cobblestones. 

“ O Donald, they’ve come. It’s—it’s-” 

“ Now, you be easy, Aunt Martha,” Don inter¬ 
rupted her. 

Though he spoke calmly he was anything but 
calm in his mind. He went to the door, and just 
as he reached it someone pounded heavily on the 
outside. 

“ Open the door, Donald,” said Aunt Martha, 
“ or they’ll beat it down.” 

Don flung the door open and to his great 
astonishment looked full into the leering face of 
Tom Bullard. Beside him were three of Crean 
Brush’s men, and behind them, grinning inso- 




OF OLD BOSTON 


201 


lently, was the Redcoat Snell. In a moment all 
were inside, and Snell was striding toward the 
door to the cellar. “ We’ll find something this 
time, boys!” he said exultantly. 

“ Gentlemen, what is it you wish?” It was 
the voice of Aunt Martha, and Don, glancing at 
her as she stood slight but well poised beside the 
fireplace, thought she looked fully ten years 
younger. 

There was something in her voice that made 
everyone turn and look at her. 44 A-hem,” 
began one of the Tories—a big fellow who 
obviously was the leader. 44 A-hem, we’ve come 
to search your house.” 

44 Yes,” said Snell, 44 we’ve come to get that 
powder which you’ve got in the cellar.” With 
his bayonet he began to pry at the lock on the 
cellar door. 

Aunt Martha looked helplessly at her nephew. 
Tom Bullard, standing near the door, made a 
sneering remark to the Tory beside him, and Don 
clenched his fists and started for him. But he 
had taken only two steps when he checked himself 
and turned to the leader. 44 You’ve no right in 
that cellar! ” he cried. 44 You’ve no right in this 
house! ” 


202 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ Hold your young tongue,” said the Tory 
sharply. “ There’s powder in this cellar, and we 
know it. That’s what we want, and that’s what 
we’re a-goin’ to get.” 

“ There’s not a grain of powder in the cellar,” 
Don replied. 

Aunt Martha’s eyebrows lifted in astonish¬ 
ment; never in her life had she known her nephew 
to tell an untruth, even in fun. 

“ No powder? ” repeated the Tory. “ Well, 
now that’s curious—very curious—because both 
these fellows say there is.” He indicated Snell 
and Tom. 

“ I’ll stake my life on it,” said Tom, stepping 
forward and throwing out his chest. 

“ And I’ll stake mine,” said Snell. 

“ Well, hurry up and get that lock off, and 
we’ll soon see,” said the leader. 

Snell inserted the bayonet and gave a wrench. 
Don was thinking, not of the powder, but of the 
bales of cloth at the foot of the stairs. In a few 
minutes they would find them, and then things 
would go hard with him and his aunt. Well, he 
had done his best, but what wouldn’t he have done 
to keep them out of the cellar altogether! 

“ Blasted lock! ” muttered Snell and gave 


OF OLD BOSTON 


203 


another fierce wrench; there was a sharp crack, 
and his bayonet was in two pieces. 

Infuriated, the Redcoat hacked away with the 
short end that was in his hand, and in a few 
moments the lock clattered to the floor. He had 
opened the door and was about to go down when 
a sharp command behind him made him turn as if 
he had seen a ghost. 

“Snell, you hound, what does this mean!” 
Harry Hawkins, gun in hand, crossed the 
threshold; he had just returned from the drill 
grounds. 

Snell’s face had gone suddenly white, and he 
only stood and looked. 

“ It means,” said the leader, “ that we’re about 
to get some ammunition that these rebels have 
hidden in the cellar.” 

“It’s not true, sir!” cried Don, turning to 
Hawkins. “ It’s not true. There is no ammuni¬ 
tion in the cellar—not a speck! ” 

Hawkins looked steadily at Aunt Martha. 
“ That is true, I suppose? ” he inquired. 

“ My nephew has never told a lie in his life, 
and, sir, he—he is telling the truth now. There 
is no ammunition in the cellar.” 

“ They’re both lying 


Tom Bullard 



204 


A PATRIOT LAB 


stopped as abruptly as he had begun as Hawkins 
whirled and faced him. 

For a long moment no one spoke; then Aunt 
Martha addressed Hawkins: “These men have 
taken it upon themselves to enter my house un¬ 
bidden. Five men against one boy and a woman! 
They have no right here-” 

“ Oh, enough of that! ” cried the leader and 
strode toward the cellar door. 

“ Halt where you are! ” exclaimed Hawkins, 
and as the Tory hesitated the soldier raised 
his gun a few inches. “ Let me see your or¬ 
ders.” 

“ Orders! Orders to search a rebel’s house? ” 

“ Now, see here,”—Hawkins’s voice was hard 
and cold, and his eyes were like points of fire— 
“ this thing has gone about as far as I want to see 
it go. I’ll stand sponsor for the boy and the 
woman—and I’ve got a good reason for doing it. 
Now, my friends, you’ll oblige me by leaving the 
house-” 

“ Why—why, you don’t mean to say-” be¬ 

gan the leader. 

“ At once,” finished Hawkins and tapped the 
stock of his musket. 

Tom Bullard was already outside the door, but 





OF OLD BOSTON 


205 


Snell and the three Tories did not move. 
Whereupon Hawkins stepped swiftly to the 
cellar door and, slamming it shut, quickly drew 
his bayonet and affixed it to the end of his piece. 

“ By heaven, you’ll hear of this! ” cried the 
leader and backed slowly across the room. “ I 
promise you I’ll see you in the guard-house be¬ 
fore nightfall! ” 

“ And,” added another, “ we’ll be here again, 
and we’ll bring Brush, himself, along.” 

Hawkins made no answer but followed the 
three across the room and, when they had gone 
out, held the door open for Snell, who lost no 
time in joining them. The sudden turn of 
affairs had left the fellow speechless, for he had 
expected to find the powder and then to accuse 
Hawkins of knowing that it was hidden in the 
cellar. 

“ Oh, sir,” exclaimed Don a few moments later, 
“ it’s true, what I told you, every word of it, but, 
oh-” 

“ Say no more,” interrupted Hawkins, smiling. 
“ Say no more. I don’t doubt your word; and if 
I had I should have stopped them, Tories as they 
are. But had they been the King’s men, I should 
not have interfered in any circumstances.” 



206 


A PATRIOT LAD 


“ But you’ve rendered us a great service-” 

Aunt Martha began. 

“ It is nothing compared with the service your 
nephew once rendered me. I owe him my life, 
and I trust that some time we may meet again— 
in better days.” Hawkins turned and walked to 
the stairs. 

Later in the afternoon Don explained to his 
aunt what he had done with the powder the night 
before, and a look of relief came into her tired 
eyes. “ I knew there must be some explana¬ 
tion,” she said simply. “ And,” she added, 
smiling slightly, “ that accounts for the noise I 
heard last night and for the shortness of the 
candle.” 

“ Do you suppose they’ll return? ” asked Don. 

“ I’m afraid so,” his aunt replied. 



CHAPTER XVII 


DON MEETS GENERAL WASHINGTON 

Crean Brush's men did not return to the 
house in Pudding Lane; they had more than 
enough to do in the excitement of the withdrawal. 
Nor did Snell give any further trouble; no doubt 
the fellow feared the strong arm of Hawkins. 

On the sixteenth of the month both Redcoats 
carried all their equipment from the house and 
did not return. All that Hawkins said as he left 
the room was “ Better days, young sire; better 
days, my good woman.” 

“ Ah, yes, let us hope for them,” replied Aunt 
Martha. 

Don only smiled, and Hawkins, as he closed 
the door, smiled in return. That was the last 
that Don ever saw of him during the war. 

The following day, which was Sunday, the 
Redcoats began to embark; and not only the 
soldiers left the town, but the Tories also. Don 
and Jud caught a glimpse of Tom Bullard and 
his father carrying some of their household effects 
207 


208 


A PATRIOT LAD 


down King Street. The faces of both Tories 
showed anger and mortification. 

“ Come on,” whispered Jud, “ let’s get ahead 
of ’em and then turn and give ’em a yell. We’ll 
never see them again.” 

“ No, Jud,” Don replied, “ I’m just a little 
sorry for them. Oh, yes, I know Tom’s acted 
mean, but just think what’s happening to him 
and his father; they’re going to Halifax, so I’ve 
heard, and all they can take along is just that 
little bit of stuff they’re carrying. Their fine 
house up on Hanover Street is lost, and they’ll 
never get it again, because they daren’t ever re¬ 
turn.” 

Jud did not reply but glanced at his com¬ 
panion sidewise. And so the two boys stood and 
watched their enemy until he and his father had 
disappeared among the throngs of Redcoats and 
Tories at the foot of the street. 

The last boatload of soldiers and refugees had 
not been long away from the shore when the Con¬ 
tinental soldiers entered the town by way of the 
Neck and by boats across the river. The boys 
spied one of the first patrols on the southern 
end of the Common and hastened toward 
them. 


OF OLD BOSTON 209 

“ I want to find out first of all about Uncle 
Dave and Glen,” Don said to Jud. 

But none of the men in the patrol knew either 
of the two men. Kindly fellows they were, all 
of them, and they laughed and joked with the 
boys and with one another as they marched along 
toward the Mall. 

“ Say!” exclaimed Jud when they had gone 
past. “ I’m so glad to see those buff and blue 
uniforms I can hardly say how I feel. I feel as 
if I’d burst! ” 

“ Me, too,” said Don, “ except that I almost 
feel like—well, like when you’re so happy it 
makes the tears come into your eyes. Look, here 
come some more of our men! ” 

Probably most of the good people of Boston 
felt as Don and Jud felt; certainly there were 
many who shed tears of joy as they stood in their 
doorways and watched the various detachments 
of Continetnals arriving. There was good 
reason for the tears, for the people who shed them 
had suffered like martyrs during long months 
of privation, insult and oppression—to say noth¬ 
ing of disease, for smallpox had broken out in the 
poorer parts of the town. 

The first words that greeted Don as he entered 


210 


A PATRIOT LAB 


his aunt’s house were, “ Donald, my boy, did— 
did you see your uncle? ” 

“ No, Aunt Martha. I asked at least a score 
of our men about him, but none of them seemed 
to know him. But, O Aunt Martha, ain’t it fine! 
The Redcoats are gone! ” 

“ When I’ve seen your uncle I shall rejoice,” 
his aunt replied and turned quickly away. 

One thing that annoyed Don the following day 
was that he failed to see General Washington, 
who had entered the town and had dined with 
Mr. James Bowdoin at the home of Mr. Erving, 
both of whom were friends of Don’s uncle. Nor 
did Don see Washington the next day, for the 
general had returned to Cambridge. 

On Wednesday, the twentieth, the main body 
of the Continental troops entered the town, with 
flags flying and drums beating. 

“ Watch out for my uncle and for Glen 
Drake,” Don said to Jud as the two boys stood 
on a crowded street corner waiting for the head 
of the column to appear. 

“ Yes, and you keep your eyes open for my 
father and for my brothers.” 

From far off came the sound of drums and 
fifes. The crowd at the corner, mostly boys and 


OF OLD BOSTON 


211 


women, moved uneasily. “ It’s Yankee Doodle 
they’re playing,” whispered Jud. “ Say, doesn’t 
that sound good! ” 

“ It surely does! ” agreed Don. 

In a few minutes the regular tramp, tramp of 
marching feet reached the ears of the eager little 
group. 

“ Here they are! ” 

A cavalcade of horses, white, black and chest¬ 
nut, had turned a corner. Behind them came 
the foot soldiers, resplendent in buff and blue, 
ruddy of face, keen of eye. 

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” Don and Jud swung 
their caps high into the air. “Hurrah!” cried 
the rest of the little group. 

But for the most part the main body of Con¬ 
tinentals were greeted with few cheers. The 
people of the besieged town had suffered too 
much under Howe and the British; most of the 
inhabitants remained at doors and windows and 
were content to wave their hands. 

“ There he is! ” cried Jud. 

“Who? Who?” 

“ General Washington! See, there on the big 
horse! Don, just look how-” 

But Don was not listening. All his attention 



212 


A PATRIOT LAD 


was given to the man who sat with such ease and 
dignity on the big horse. Never had he seen 
anyone who looked so thoroughly like his ideal of 
a soldier. Tall and well-proportioned, the gen¬ 
eral looked truly noble and majestic. His coat 
was blue with buff facings, and on each shoulder 
he wore a rich epaulette. His under dress was 
buff, and he wore a black cockade in his hat. At 
his side hung an elegant small-sword. 

The cavalcade swung past, and the two boys 
turned to each other at the same time. “ Jinks! ” 
exclaimed Jud. “Wasn’t he fine!” 

“Fine!” echoed Don and with a deep sigh 
turned again to view the troops. 

Several ranks of foot soldiers had already 
passed, but the boys sharply scrutinized those 
who were approaching. Company after com¬ 
pany swung past. Then Jud suddenly spied his 
father and the next instant one of his brothers. 
Both recognized him and smiled as they passed. 
A few minutes later he spied the other brother. 

Don was worried; not a man had he seen who 
looked in the least like his uncle or Glen. Com¬ 
pany after company, regiment after regiment, 
marched by, and somehow Don felt his lips be¬ 
ginning to quiver. 


OF OLD BOSTON 


213 


“ It’s too bad, Don,” said Jud. “ I’d hoped 
we’d see Glen and your uncle right off. Here’s 
the end of the column. Maybe they’ll come 
later.” 

Don made no answer; he was wondering how 
he could tell his aunt that Uncle David had not 
entered with the troops. He bit his under lip. 
Maybe his uncle’s wound had not healed. 
Maybe- 

“ I’ll see you later, Don,” Jud was saying. 
“ Won’t Ma be glad when I tell her! ” 

Don made his way dejectedly to the little house 
in Pudding Lane. He could just picture his 
aunt’s face when he told her the news. He 
opened the door and with head down stepped 
inside; the next instant, when he lifted his eyes, 
he could hardly believe what he saw. There, 
standing beside his aunt near the fireplace, re¬ 
splendent in a captain’s uniform was—David 
Hollis! His arm was round Aunt Martha’s 
waist, and she was laughing and crying both at 
the same time. And there in one comer of the 
room, looking almost as he had looked when Don 
had first seen him, was Glen Drake! 

“ Donald, my lad! ” 

Don felt the breath almost squeezed from his 



214 


A PATRIOT LAB 


body, for his uncle was a big man. And then he 
felt the bones in his hand crunch as the old trap¬ 
per greeted him. 

“ Oh, this seems almost too good to be true! ” 
Aunt Martha was saying. 

For the next fifteen minutes questions and 
answers followed one another in quick succession. 
Then at last Don asked gravely: “ Uncle David, 
where did you come from? I never saw you in 
the column.” 

David Hollis laughed heartily. “ I saw you, 
though; my company led the column. But you 
were so interested in our general that you didn’t 
have eyes for anybody else.” 

“Never mind, Don,” said Glen; “he’s a fine 
man to look at, the general is.” 

“What a hard time you’ve had here!” said 
Uncle David. “ Your aunt has been telling me. 
My boy, I’m proud of you for the way you’ve 
acted and especially for the way you kept the 
Redcoats from getting that stuff in the cellar.” 

“ Yes, Don, you sure played the fox that 
time,” said Glen. “ And now that the Redcoats 
have gone, I’m thinking you and I and that other 
boy will be able to do a little trapping in the 
woods together.” 


OF OLD BOSTON 


215 


“ Now, David,” said Aunt Martha, “ what are 
we going to do with the stuff in the cellar? I 
don’t want it to remain there; truly I don’t.” 

David Hollis laughed and turned to his 
nephew. “ It’s yours, Donald,” he said; “ you’ve 
earned the right to it, I think; do with it as you 
wish. Perhaps you can sell it.” 

“ Me—sell it! ” exclaimed Don. 

“ It’s yours. My friend in the South doesn’t 
want it.” 

“ With all that cloth you won’t have to worry 
about breeches now for the rest of your life, 
Don,” said Glen grinning. 

Don did not reply; he was thinking hard. 

The next morning while Glen and his uncle 
were with the troops he entered the cellar and 
spent almost an hour making a list of the supplies 
that were there. Then he hurried up-stairs and 
went out into the street. 

Half an hour later he was standing in front of 
a lieutenant in a large hallway. “ I’d like very 
much to see General Washington,” he said. 

“ Indeed,” said the lieutenant; “ and what may 
be your business? ” 

“ I have something to give him.” 

“ Indeed. You don’t look as if you had much 


216 


A PATRIOT LAB 


to give.” The lieutenant smiled good-naturedly. 
“ I’m sorry to have to turn you away, but the 
general is a busy man these days.” 

Don fell back a pace and looked around him. 

“ I’m sorry-” the lieutenant was saying, 

when a door opened, and a tall figure stepped 
into the hall. 

Like a flash the lieutenant and several other 
officers who were standing near by snapped to 
attention. It was Washington himself that was 
walking quietly toward the entrance. Don 
gulped once, and then before he knew what he 
was doing he had exclaimed: 

“ Sir—General Washington! ” 

The general turned, and Don pulled his slip of 
paper from his pocket and handed it to him. 
“ This is a list of goods that were in our cellar all 
during the occupation,” he said. “ My uncle, 
Capt. David Hollis, gave them to me for keeping 
the Redcoats from getting them. I want to give 
them to our army.” 

Washington glanced at the paper—he seemed 
to read everything on it in a single glance—and 
then turned to the boy. “ The army will be very 
grateful to have these supplies,” he said. “ I 
thank you, my boy. You are a true patriot.” 



OF OLD BOSTON 217 

Don colored to the roots of his hair as he 
watched the general hand the paper to the 
lieutenant and then turn and smile and pass into 
the street. 

“ Donald! ” cried Aunt Martha as Don burst 
noisily into the room. “ What’s the matter? ” 

“ I gave the supplies to Washington! ” cried 
Don. “ I saw him, Aunt Martha, and he said 
the army would be glad to get them. You know 
they need stuff for uniforms, and especially 
powder.” 

“ Good for you, Donald! It’s the best thing 
you could have done with them.” 

“ And, Aunt Martha, he said I was a true 
patriot! ” 

“ You are, Donald; you’ve helped the cause.” 

In another minute Don was, closely followed 
by Sailor, on his way to Hog Alley to tell Jud 
the news. His eyes were bright, and his face 
was flushed as he ran along the streets, which 
now were filled with Continental uniforms. He 
had done something to help his country at last. 


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